Chapter 15

Satoru Gojo seemed deflated. He had always carried an air of hidden worries, but now he appeared even more subdued, as if crushed by some blow. Yet, he did not openly display strong emotions. It was like the silent, damp drizzle outside—not a violent downpour, but a persistent, penetrating mist.

The cold rain pattered unpleasantly against their faces. Shosei Takizawa opened the umbrella lent to him by a fellow patient, instinctively tilting the shaft toward Satoru Gojo. He silently thanked their similar heights; otherwise, he would have had to raise his arm higher. Takizawa had done this many times before. Once Gojo entered adolescence, he no longer had attendants following him closely, so the duty of holding the umbrella naturally fell to Takizawa. He habitually cursed Gojo under his breath while diligently shielding the young master. In a way, the umbrella not only blocked the raindrops but also shielded them from prying eyes, making it harder for ill-intentioned onlookers to distinguish who was who.

Years later, when this small habit resurfaced, Takizawa’s umbrella was suddenly taken from his grasp.

“What’s wrong?” Takizawa asked, caught off guard.

“What are you doing? The rain won’t hit me,” Gojo said, giving Takizawa more space under the umbrella.

They trudged along the muddy street beneath the gray sky. The giant screen on the commercial street flashed a heavy rain warning, advising people not to go out after ten o’clock and to be cautious if they did.

Huddled under one umbrella, neither felt cramped or uneasy. Even before external pressures, they often walked with arms around each other’s shoulders.

“Your injury healed way too fast,” Gojo remarked, bringing up Takizawa’s follow-up examination results. “That doctor kept calling you a miracle. Even your broken bone healed without a trace.”

Takizawa felt a twinge of guilt at the mention. He knew his bodily changes were closely tied to a near-death experience but otherwise seemed unchanged. He admitted honestly, “I’m not sure myself.”

Gojo looked at him. “You don’t know?”

“You’re implying something?” Takizawa retorted.

“Just curious. Or worried about you.”

They habitually spoke such sentimental words with teasing tones, but Takizawa remained silent.

Gojo pondered—his thoughts divided. He responded to Takizawa’s words yet remained lost in his own world.

Suddenly, Takizawa noticed Gojo had bought two bottles of a new-flavored drink from a nearby vending machine. The bottles were cool to the touch. With a teasing grin, Takizawa pressed one against Gojo’s face, as always unfazed by Gojo’s boundless limits.

Gojo gave a soft hiss. “Durian melon flavor? Is this some kind of prank?”

“You think it’s ridiculous too, huh? But apparently, it sells well.”

Gojo took a sip and wordlessly handed the bottle to Takizawa.

They locked eyes for two seconds before Takizawa quietly accepted the drink.

While dealing with the “prank” beverage, Takizawa noticed Gojo staring at the dull, gray sky.

His eyes were clear and pure. Takizawa had once tried to describe them using his exceptional skills in document analysis—a tool he wielded expertly—but found words lacking. Yet, he did not hold back his admiration.

Gojo gazed upward, the invisible universe reflected in his pupils.

Though ethereal in demeanor, Takizawa saw the emptiness and darkness lurking beneath Gojo’s eyes.

---

Damn it, had Gojo’s personality really changed so much in the past ten years? How did he go from a cheerful boy who, even when busy enough to lose hair, never forgot to message or call him with trivial chatter, into a taciturn adult with a well-masked facade?

Takizawa felt his frustrations had been building to a breaking point because he found himself missing the Gojo of their teenage years.

Was time truly such a terrifying force? In the patterns he once knew, Gojo was still the carefree youth who comfortably accepted Takizawa’s affection, always sticking close, constantly making all sorts of reckless demands—the unruly boy he knew.

Takizawa was annoyed. He was about to make a fuss.

“Gojo, I’ve been holding back for so long. Do you have something on your mind?”

Gojo stared at him blankly.

“Have you been too repressed these past few years? That can’t be. You’re the head of the Gojo family now.” Takizawa felt his carefully nurtured cheerful mindset slipping into gloom. “Are you struggling? Want me to help when we get back?”

Had he really become so outspoken?

“...”

After a brief pause, Gojo laughed—not darkly, but with a reckless abandon that was almost irritating.

“You really haven’t changed at all, Shosei.”

He mimicked Takizawa by making a zipping motion over his chest. “If it’s a secret... here, take a look.”

Takizawa was speechless.

“Come on, tell me. What did Miss Furubayashi say to you?”

“You were eavesdropping through a door?”

“I couldn’t hear clearly. I was playing with Mei, but I saw her come to find you.”

Gojo’s tone turned playful. “She said you kept feeling hopeless and wanted to jump off the building during your hospital stay.”

Ah...

Just as expected.

Though forewarned, Takizawa widened his eyes. “Just because of that?”

That miserable, tragic label again!

Takizawa didn’t even know why people got that impression of him. Even when he explicitly denied it, he would only get a cold, ambiguous snort from Jinpei Matsuda. He was such a bright and cheerful person!

“You really believe that?” Takizawa asked with a laugh. “Am I that kind of person?”

He wasn’t before.

Gojo thought to himself,

Maybe not anymore.

“I didn’t give up on living even when Gojo Rant was tricking me into the cursed womb’s gestation point,” Takizawa said. “Do you remember what I said then? I said I wouldn’t die that way.”

---

“I remember,” Gojo’s voice remained clear over the sound of raindrops. “I remember you were trapped there for three days, and when the rescue team arrived, you were barely alive.”

“Hmm, I’ve mostly forgotten the details.”

“You stayed home bedridden for three months.”

Takizawa paused, realizing the conversation had circled back to his strange healing ability.

He sighed. “Spare me. I honestly don’t know what’s going on.”

There was a convenient and ready explanation.

Gojo glanced at his profile. The young man’s clear blue-green eyes reflected the streetlights in swirling, vivid colors.

Ordinary cursed spirits healed faster than normal humans, and the stronger the cursed energy, the quicker the regeneration.

The Six Eyes flawlessly recorded Takizawa’s information.

Gojo had never seen a case like this, yet instinctively concluded—Takizawa was a vessel for a certain curse, gradually transformed by it, with astonishing cursed energy.

Yet Takizawa’s cursed energy before death was ordinary. His combat skills were built up gradually through hard work.

The truth was obvious—only Gojo could have brought Takizawa back to life in this era.

—When did I curse him?

Gojo had pondered this question since seeing Takizawa again.

But he wasn’t fixated on the answer, knowing clearly that he could have cursed him at any time.

A curse remained alive, stayed by his side.

***

When they arrived home, the rain showed signs of intensifying. It was certainly not a day for walking the dog, so Takizawa could only entertain the dog indoors. Gojo joined in, making it probably Daifuku’s most exhausting day ever.

Interestingly, when Gojo interacted with Daifuku, he too got caught up in the fun, reaching levels of silliness and disgust that were unmatched.

“Ha ha ha ha ha…” Takizawa laughed, falling back onto the sofa. Daifuku, frustrated by never reaching Gojo, kicked Takizawa’s stomach for consolation, causing him to cough for a while.

“Your dog’s a bit too stupid,” Gojo said, dressed in Takizawa’s loungewear, sitting cross-legged on the other side of the sofa. “And it has no temper at all.”

Daifuku wore a tuft of fur spiked up by Gojo. Takizawa laughed as he took pictures. “You can just say it has a good temperament.”

Suddenly, the screen showed an incoming call. Takizawa’s smile faded slightly. He pressed the answer button, and before he could greet, the trembling voice of a youth said—

“Takizawa, Rika she…!”