Despite Ieiri's claims that she's training you, you suspect that you're being used as another errand girl. You're usually given a list of odd jobs to complete before you can leave – taking stock of the inventory, labelling new medicines, sweeping, dusting and mopping the unused rooms – but today, Ieiri actually seems busy. She doesn't even arrive to greet you when your arrival is announced by the bell hanging at the back of the door.
You poke your head into her office but find that it's deserted. Files are stacked haphazardly, and a cup of coffee cools, sending up tendrils of steam into the air. Her white lab coat is draped over the back of her chair. She must have left in a hurry.
Your eyes are drawn to a picture on her desk. It's a novelty frame depicting die-cut images of things relating to graduation, including a digital clock face that reads 3:00 A.M. Ieiri seems younger in the picture. The shadows ringing her eyes are lighter, and her hair is cut in a manner that curls and cups around her face. Her smile is wide and bright as she clowns around for the camera. Her cheeks are smashed together with Gojo – younger, wilder, but still with the same smug smile – and a strangely familiar-looking man, with his hair drawn back away from his sharply angular face into a tight bun.
You jump as a voice speaks from behind you. "That was taken when I was still a student." Ieiri brushes by you to rummage in about in a desk drawer. The smell of cigarette smoke and antiseptic floats like a cloud behind her.
"Who's that?" You point out the man with an earring glinting in his ear.
A wry twist of her lips. "Kid, I'm gonna need alcohol for that conversation."
"Oh. Sorry." You swallow. Is he dead? "Do you miss him? Sorry. Stupid question." I miss Yuji, and I know he's dead.
For a few seconds, you listen to the sound of her breathing. Ieiri scrapes back her hair into a low ponytail, and slips on her lab coat with a polished grace that you envy.
"I do." Ieiri nods. For the briefest moment, she looks impossibly fragile. A bitter expression flits across her face, one you're all too familiar with. Regret. She seems to recover before you can apologise once again, shaking off her melancholy as she turns to you. Briskly, she says, "Let's get to work."
After disinfecting your hands and donning a white lab coat, you follow her down into the morgue. You've grown used to the white on white colour scheme customary for the school's infirmary. The wet cold quickly seeps into your skin, making you grit your teeth. There's a smell in the air that you can't place, and you wonder if the dead smell that quickly. Ieiri pulls a sheet off a mishappen lump of flesh, and studies it with critical eyes, apparently seeing more than you can.
Malevolent energy lingers on their bodies, a sensation you've come to associate with Curses. Still, doubt nags at your heart, driving you to ask, "Are these really Curses? How come they haven't dissolved like the ones I've seen?"
"That's what we're going to find out. We're doing an autopsy today." Her phone buzzes from inside her coat pocket. Ieiri has a quick conversation with whoever's on the end of the line and hangs up. Tension pinches the corners of her mouth and drives the little colour from her cheeks. "More Curses to collect. I'll be back in ten minutes."
She closes the door behind her, so that it's just you and a shell of the Curse. You settle your tense frame into a chair and try to gather your strength. You swallow. Panic prickles down your spine. Even in death, its sightless eyes seem to follow your anxious frame, tracking your every movement as you fidget. You can't shake the feeling of unease weighing heavily upon your shoulders.
Useless.
Finally, when it seems as though the sick, gnawing feeling in between your ribs is about to burst out, you grab the sheet, intending to sweep it back over the Curse. Your skin brushes against what you think might be a leg. Like a tuning fork being struck, a hum vibrates up your arm. The hair on the back of your neck stands up.
Your hands light up. A butterfly gently floats to life, landing first on your hand before dithering over to the Curse. Soon a whole swarm of them float up and down and around you, like a swirl of golden petals. A beating of wings. A miniature hurricane. The light growing intense.
"[ NAME ]. [ NAME ]!" Your name comes from a distance.
You open your eyes, finding yourself slumped back in the chair, fighting back waves of nausea and pain.
Wheezing, you choke on your next inhale of breath. "What –"
"I think you fainted." Ieiri says, peering into your eyes. "Are you okay?" Her concern is palpable.
"I – There were butterflies – I think –"
Ieiri's breath catches audibly. Surprise and disbelief flash across her face. "Did you do this?"
You follow her gaze down to the metal table. It's not a Curse anymore, but a human girl. A child. A tiny brunette, her face as pale as the walls around you, a face a mask of frozen terror in death. Your stomach tightens again. You can feel your breakfast lurching. You close your eyes and try to breathe as bile rises into the back of your throat.
Your voice is very small. You can barely hear it. "It wasn't a Curse after all."
"No, I suppose not. Rather, it's the work of a Curse." Ieiri blows out a frustrated breath. She looks at you, gauging you, and appears to come to a decision. "[ NAME ], why don't you take the rest of the afternoon off? I can handle it from here."
You stand, clutching the table for support, vertigo rocking you. "Um. Are you sure? I can stay for a while more, it's no problem." Your knees feel swollen and stiff, like you've been kneeling for hours on broken glass.
"I'm sure. I just have to run more tests and make more phone calls. I can handle those on my own." Ieiri all but shoos you out the door. "Take it easy today, kid. You've earned yourself a break."
You can't imagine going back to your room and sitting alone in the dark, where your thoughts will eat you alive, from the inside out. Your head swims with what you've just seen. You're tired of it. Tired of everything, especially the swarm of unanswered questions. You don't know where to go or what to do with yourself.
Automatically, your feet carry you to the sports field.
"[ NAME ], you're late!" Maki barks, pouncing on you as soon as you make your appearance. She opens her mouth. Closes it. You think she's about to scold you more, but her voice is careful when she next speaks. "You – Uh – Did something happen?"
Curses are cruel, you think. Humans are fragile. I can't bring back the dead. Instead, you shake your head. Try to swallow around the lump clogging your throat.
"Uh. Why don't you sit?" Over her shoulder, she gestures at someone – you can't tell if it's Megumi or Nobara. "Do you want something to drink?"
Surprised that she's being so nice, you shoot her a wary glance. Maki's staring at you oddly now, and you realise that you're trembling visibly. There's a dull, disgusting feeling of despair swimming through your body that you think might burst out.
Shake.
"Uh – Okay. Okay." Maki seems hilariously out of her depth; normally, you might be tempted to laugh, but you can't even look her in the eyes. You can't look at anyone, fearing that they'll see the evidence of your failures written all over your face. "Uh – Toge! Come here! Now!"
"Tuna?"
"Now!"
You're vaguely aware of Maki's firm grip on your elbow; you feel stone against the back of your thighs as she guides you into a sitting position. Exhaustion saps at your limbs. You keep your eyes closed.
Beside you, a rustle of fabric. You imagine Inumaki shifting about, making himself comfortable. He sits nearby, not touching you, but close enough for you to feel his presence.
You lean your head against his shoulder.
