“Toge?” Panda tilted his head as he spoke to Kugisaki.
It was the beginning of August. She was in the midst of rebounding off a tree in the Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High School courtyard at a 180-degree angle. This was during grueling first-year training as the school geared up for the upcoming Goodwill Event with their sister school in Kyoto. The focus was hand-to-hand combat, specifically battles between jujutsu sorcerers.
Or rather, it was supposed to be a training session, but not much was happening other than Kugisaki repeatedly rushing Panda, who kept sending her flying back, only to have her rush at him again, over and over. Todo and Mai’s role was to encourage her, and she did indeed appear motivated, so perhaps their efforts were having an effect.
“Yes. I can tell Maki respects him, and you say he’s a skilled sorcerer, Panda Senpai,” Kugisaki replied.
“You don’t use the senpai honorific for Maki, who’s also in a higher grade than you. You don’t have to use it for me either,” Panda said.
“I respect you,” Kugisaki said as she stood up again, brushing tree leaves off her tracksuit. “Besides, calling you Panda would feel sorta whimsical.”
“Well, your ability to engage in chitchat while getting knocked around is impressive, at least,” Panda said.
“Getting a thrashing like this will teach me defense,” Kugisaki said.
Panda looked around and confirmed that Toge, who had gone to the drugstore, hadn’t returned yet. He managed to do this while also defending against Kugisaki, who had rushed him again. He easily deflected her and continued speaking. “Anyway, what about Toge?”
“I’m wondering what he’s like as a senpai,” Kugisaki replied.
“Hm? Can’t you tell by talking to him?”
“Of course not! I mean, I know he’s not a bad guy, but I can’t tell much more since his vocabulary consists solely of rice-ball ingredients.”
“I guess we’ve gotten used to it,” Panda said. “Right, Maki?”
“Yeah,” Maki answered. “But I suppose I can understand her confusion.”
Maki spun a pole-like cursed tool, nimbly dodged an attack by Fushiguro, and—bonk!—scored a light hit on Fushiguro’s head.
“Ow!” Fushiguro exclaimed in pain.
“You still think too much with your head,” Maki chided. She gave him a disdainful glance. She didn’t seem to be out of breath at all, looking even more at ease than Panda. “Toge’s probably the most considerate of us all,” she said.
“Despite his first impression, he’s a smart guy. Aside from Yuta, he’s the best in our grade,” Panda added.
“His only flaw is that he can be pretty mischievous,” said Maki.
Panda said, “He’s not that mischievous, is he?”
“You don’t notice it because you’re mischievous with him!”
“That hurts. We aren’t mischievous. We’re just spirited.”
Kugisaki had reached the limit of her ability to make small talk while training. The second-years continued conversing about trivialities, operating on a completely different level than her. But the moment Panda diverted his attention ever so slightly toward his conversation with Maki, Kugisaki feinted left and then right and threw an uppercut.
“Anyway …” Panda easily swayed aside to evade the attack, then tripped Kugisaki with a sobat-like move.
“Geh!” she cried out.
The leg Kugisaki was using to pivot collapsed. She spun and fell, but without letting down her guard. It was a reflex she’d been honing over the past few weeks. However, defending isn’t the same as winning, and her disappointment was apparent in her expression.
“Toge’s a good guy. You’ll learn soon enough,” Panda said, looking down at her.
“If you say so,” Kugisaki responded.
Kugisaki’s defense also didn’t prevent her from injuring her back when she fell. If I keep falling like this, I’ll have to buy a new tracksuit, she thought dejectedly.
Sometime later, on an autumn day during a short school break following the incident at Yasohachi Bridge, Kugisaki decided to go to Shibuya alone.
Fushiguro was exhausted and had holed up in his room to read, while Itadori had gone out to see an arty movie that only a film nerd would like. Maki was on a mission unrelated to the Yasohachi Bridge incident, so they wouldn’t see each other for a while. This left Kugisaki without any plans, so she went shopping for makeup, clothes and personal items—things she wouldn’t want to shop for with the boys around.
“Winter tops and bottoms, winter shoes, underwear, foundation,” she muttered to herself.
With shopping bags dangling from both hands, Kugisaki examined her haul. She didn’t think she’d purchased too much, but she had done more walking than expected. Perhaps it had been a mistake to wear her new pin-heeled boots. She didn’t get to go shopping alone that often, though, and there were still some things she wanted to look for. As she walked through the boisterous crowd, she thought she might browse handbags next.
When she had first arrived in Tokyo, all the new sights were dazzling to her. Three months later, she had grown accustomed to the lights, and the noise had even started to get on her nerves. But it was a product of unceasing human activity, and the constant snippets of conversation gave the city character.
“That was a masterpiece!”
“Salmon!”
“Come visit our new shop! We reopened!”
“Don’t you want to try some? It’s delicious!”
“Did we get too much?”
“I’m so tired!”
“Mom, buy that for me!”
Countless voices representing countless lives intermingled at the intersection. Each one was an individual, existing in their own individual world. Some people might’ve found the confusion of voices and needs to be depressing, but not Kugisaki. She had a strong sense of self. She welcomed the clamor of the city, because it allowed everyone to live as they pleased.
Actually, it was her home village that had been suffocating. There, conformity was encouraged. Its ecosystem survived by refusing to recognize individuals as individuals. To Kugisaki, it had felt like a closed-off world that was quietly rotting away. By contrast, the masses of people in the city meant that every person had their freedom. Someone once said that the city makes you lose interest in other people. Kugisaki smiled, thinking that was fine by her. No one here would criticize her for being who she was, and she could walk wherever her own two feet took her. The chaotic and multifaceted nature of the city was comfortable for her.
Yet fateful encounters occur even in the urban jumble.
“Hmm?”
Kugisaki was walking toward Shibuya Hikarie when she recognized a face amidst the crowd on the other side of the street. The person’s collar was flipped up and closed tight, hiding the lower half of his face. It was Toge Inumaki. She was certain she had never met the blue-eyed man with him, who looked as though he might be a foreign tourist. The unexpected sight of the two captured Kugisaki’s interest.
“I wonder what they’re talking about.”
Kugisaki changed her trajectory, crossed the street just as the signal changed, and made for Inumaki. As she approached, she could overhear his conversation.
“I’d like to go to Shibuya 109,” the man with blue eyes said.
“Salmon, salmon,” Inumaki replied.
“Where can I get a taxi?” asked the man.
“Salted fish roe.”
“Um … which way should we go?”
“Kelp.”
“Uh … watashi … ikitai. Ichimaru Kyū,” the man stammered in Japanese. “Please, okay?”
“Salmon,” Toge responded
“Salmon?” the man repeated.
“Salm … on.”
“Salmon again?! What the heck, man?!”
“Fish flakes.”
“Ugh …”
This situation was even more of a disaster than Kugisaki could have imagined. Inumaki was a cursed speech user, so in order to avoid accidentally releasing curses, the only words he uttered were rice ball ingredients. This tourist had stopped him, of all people, to ask for directions, and Inumaki was trying to respond the best he could through a variety of gestures.
Figuring the tourist was probably running out of patience, Kugisaki decided to intervene. “What’s up, Senpai?”
“Tuna mayo,” Inumaki answered.
“Spare me the rice-ball bit, okay?”
“Ooh, a geisha girl!” said the tourist.
“Who you callin’ a geisha girl?!” Kugisaki demanded.
From what she’d overheard, Kugisaki had an idea of where he wanted to go. She managed to direct him to the other side of the station with four simple English words: “Left, right, straight … goddamnit!”
Having finally received directions, the tourist stumped off, but not before expressing his appreciation with an antiquated term, saying, “Katajikenōgozaru!”
Inumaki’s not the only weirdo around here, Kugisaki thought.
“Salmon,” Inumaki said.
“Come on, couldn’t you have written down directions? Or shown him a map on your phone?” Kugisaki asked.
“Salted fish roe.”
Kugisaki had met Inumaki about three months ago, but she still couldn’t understand rice ball-ese. Apparently, Fushiguro could, and Itadori had the ability to play along. Naturally, the second-years could understand too.
Inumaki had helped Kugisaki with her sparring, so he wasn’t exactly a stranger. And during the plot to kill Itadori—of which no proof remained—Inumaki had been worried about Itadori, even though they had just met. So Kugisaki knew he wasn’t a bad guy, but there were limits to how well she would be able to get to know him if all he could do was call out rice ball ingredients.
She knew that Maki respected Inumaki, and Panda, who had been Kugisaki’s sparring partner, relied on him. They had both declared him a good guy. Nonetheless, Kugisaki had yet to really get a handle on her senpai Inumaki.