It looks like Yuji's day isn't going much better than yours. It was Gojo's idea, Yuji had said, albeit pitifully. Nobara had not been moved. With an edge to her voice and a tense set to her jaw, she'd told Yuji to stay in the corner of the room with a black memorial frame until she said otherwise. You have no idea where Nobara's procured it, but you aren't about to ask her. Her tears and her grief have dried up and given way to anger, but you've learned that her moods change as rapidly as the weather, and for the most part, you find it's easier if you go along with them.
"Now, now. You've all heard his explanation. Cut him some slack." Panda says equably.
Yuji splutters, as though he's coming up for air. "The panda talked!"
"Salmon, salmon." Inumaki nods.
Yuji's brow is pleated in confusion. Something familiar closes over you. You're reminded of the early days, when you'd struggled to understand Inumaki, had been forced at every turn to ask Panda to translate. And you'd learned. Writing every meaning down into the Notes app on your phone, until you'd been able to understand. "What?"
"It's his Cursed Technique." You say scratchily, with a cold cloth pressed to your puffy eyes, leeching the heat away from your skin. It feels nice. "He uses Cursed Speech. It amplifies whatever he says. So he limits his vocabulary to keep others safe."
A sweet, sharp ache in your chest reminds you of how kind Inumaki really is. A hand of friendship extended your way, comfort and reassurance offered without expecting anything in return. And you realize now, all at once, that you want to know him more. That you've begun to see his blue eyes and gold spun silk of his hair as the signs of a friend, and have for a while now.
Thoroughly enthused, Yuji exclaims, "So if he told someone to go die, they'd actually die? He's strong!"
"It's nothing that convenient." Panda disagrees. "It's all case by case, depending on their difference in strength. If he uses powerful words, he's hit with massive feedback. Limiting his vocabulary is a way for Toge to protect himself, as well."
"More importantly, Yuji – Give me back Slaughter Demon." Deeming that she's had enough of Yuji's oohing and aahing, Maki steps forward with her hand outstretched. "You borrowed it from Satoru, right?"
Yuji makes a sound like a garbled washing machine. "Gojo-Sensei . . . Has it."
Didn't you break it?
"Ugh, that blindfolded moron!" Maki clicks her tongue in disgust. She looks as though she's about to storm off and hunt for Gojo, but she presses her fingers to her temple and presses away what must be a building headache. "So, what's the plan? The group battle format is what we expected, but we have an added member now. Do we change strategies? There's not much time."
"Actually," You say, speaking up and letting your words take shape, pushing them out into the air. Brave, brave, brave. Your voice sounds odd to your own ears. Everyone is looking at you expectantly. Your heart pulses in your throat, and it's difficult to breathe. You look at Inumaki, imagining that you're speaking to him, and him alone, and your breath flows a little easier with that image in mind. "Actually, I have an idea."
Moments later, after your plan has been stamped with an all-around seal of approval, you're spreading out your first-aid kit all over the floor of the outer porch, checking and double-checking your equipment: a needle, ethyl alcohol, bandages, scissors, gauze, thread, throat medicine, lozenges, tweezers, plasters, and alcohol wipes.
You look up as Yuji pads his way over, his footfalls quiet against the polished wood. The two of you sit cross-legged on the floor. As though you're children at a lesson, waiting for your teachers to make sense of the world.
