Reunion

The cursed spirits scattered in all directions.

"Smart way to fight." Gu Yanzhi's voice rang out, a hint of undisguised surprise in his tone.

Concentrating all his cursed energy in his hands to restrain it, then using the cockroaches to deal damage-against a nimble cursed spirit, this really was the best solution: cripple its mobility first, then overwhelm it with numbers.

Both his improved use of cursed energy and his combat instincts surprised Gu Yanzhi a little. After all, this boy was only twelve.

Mishima panted heavily as Gu Yanzhi continued.

"The cockroaches just reported a crowd near an exit not far from here. Probably ordinary people huddling together for safety." Gu Yanzhi paused. "Knowing Yuta Okkotsu, he won't abandon them. Following the crowd might give us a better chance of finding him. You can rest a little and set off once you've recovered some."

Mishima stayed where he was. He withdrew the Festering Life Sword into his palm and braced himself against the pipe wall to stand. He swayed once as he straightened, then steadied himself.

"I'm fine, Mr. Gu. Let's find Mr. Okkotsu first. That's what matters most right now."

Gu Yanzhi fell silent for a moment. Why did this kid seem like a different person?

The image of him cowering behind the convenience store counter was still vivid, and his fear when the toad cursed spirit blasted him into a wall had been genuine. Yet the Mishima standing before him now-covered in blood, traces of it still smeared around his mouth-insisted on pressing ahead.

He said nothing more, offering only a simple reply.

"Fine. The sooner we find Okkotsu, the sooner we can sort out this whole damn mess."

With Gu Yanzhi's approval, Mishima set off.

Several cockroaches crawled out of cracks in the pipe wall, their antennae quivering in the air as they probed for fluctuations in cursed energy ahead. Then they scurried along the wall in one direction.

After traveling for a while, he finally saw a shaft of light spill through a gap overhead.

He narrowed his eyes, shielding his forehead with a hand, and walked toward the light.

The moment he climbed out of the sewer, the sunlight stung his eyes so badly he could barely open them. He raised a hand to shield them, waiting for his pupils to adjust before making out that he was standing beneath a bridge.

On the other side of the underpass stood twenty or thirty people. Some sat crouched on the ground, wrapped in blankets; others dozed against the bridge piers. A few children huddled in their mothers' arms.

Now they all watched him with the same look-fearful and wary, like a flock of startled sparrows.

It was hardly fair to blame them for overreacting. Mishima did look rather frightening.

Even setting aside the indefinable sense of oppression from being haunted by a special grade cursed spirit's curse, Mishima's clothes were torn and stained with blood and sewage, his face was filthy, and several cockroaches crawled around him. After days spent hiding and fleeing, people startled as easily as birds. Mishima might look like a boy barely in his teens, but he could still be one of those murderous lunatics. No one dared take that chance.

Beneath the bridge, the only sound was the flowing river. Mishima stood at the entrance, pinned in place by dozens of wary stares.

He instinctively took a step forward, and the crowd took a step back.

"Mishima-you're Mishima!" A shout broke the silence.

Behind the crowd, a boy called out. Mishima's exhausted, dull eyes suddenly brightened, and he hurriedly looked toward the voice.

The boy was squeezing through from the back of the crowd. He was short, with a close-cropped buzz cut and a few freckles on his cheeks.

Mishima walked toward him. The people around him immediately felt a strange pressure wash over them, and instinct drove them to retreat, opening a narrow path through the crowd.

Seeing everyone back away, the boy who had called Mishima's name felt his own legs weaken. He didn't know why he was afraid-the person before him was someone he knew. But the pressure was real, like an invisible hand pressing against his chest.

Then he saw Mishima's exhausted, anxious face, clenched his teeth, and resisted the urge to step back.

Mishima pulled him into a hug so tight that the faint creak of compressed bones could be heard.

"Thank goodness, Yamada! You're okay. Thank goodness!"

Yamada couldn't breathe in his grip, and his face flushed red. He hurriedly slapped Mishima's shoulder, trying to push him away, but couldn't budge him at all. When did this guy get so strong?

He grimaced and squirmed for a long while before Mishima realized he was holding him too tightly. Mishima quickly let go and took an embarrassed half step back.

Mishima's expression was much brighter than before. He took off his backpack and pulled out a bundle containing the things he had just taken from the convenience store-bread, cookies, and several bottles of water.

These were the supplies Gu Yanzhi had told him to bring earlier, just in case.

At the sight of food, everyone was overjoyed. Much of their fear and wariness vanished at once, and they crowded back around him, talking over one another about how wonderful it was. With this, they wouldn't have to risk going out to find food today.

The atmosphere gradually eased. Mishima and Yamada sat in a corner beneath the bridge, chatting on and off.

They talked about what had happened over the past few days-monsters everywhere in the streets, buildings half collapsed, all signals cut off, and no messages reaching their phones. Hugging his knees, Yamada said he had seen someone get killed and had hidden in a wardrobe all night, too afraid to come out.

"I should've gone with that guy in the monk's robes," Yamada said with a sigh.

"I thought he was weird back then. He even had a seam across his forehead, like some lunatic. Thinking about it now, maybe the government sent him."

Mishima's fingers tightened unconsciously around his water bottle. A monk with stitches across his forehead-that was the instigator of the Culling Game Mr. Gu had told him about.

"What about your little brother, Xiaozhi? Did he go with him?" Yamada asked casually. "Otherwise, he'd be glued to you like always."

Mishima's hand went still.

The water bottle warped in his grip, the plastic giving a tiny crackle in the silence.

"Xiaozhi..."

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but his throat felt blocked.

"Mishima."

Gu Yanzhi's voice suddenly sounded deep within his mind. His earlier lazy drawl was gone. Now his voice was extremely low, every word seemingly forced through gritted teeth, carrying a chill that instantly raised the hairs on the back of Mishima's neck.

"Give me your body. Something's coming-this next fight is beyond you."

Yamada was waiting for Mishima's answer when he saw him spring to his feet. He wanted to ask what was wrong, but the instant he opened his mouth, a terrifying pressure erupted from Mishima. Frightened, he stumbled backward and landed on the ground.

Mishima curled his right hand around empty air, and a jet-black sword appeared in his grip. At the same time, countless cockroaches poured out of every corner beneath the bridge.

Ignoring the ordinary people's terrified screams, they gathered around Mishima in orderly ranks, climbing over him layer by layer until his entire body was encased in writhing black shells.

The crowd recoiled in terror.

Mishima-no, Gu Yanzhi was controlling this body now-walked against the retreating crowd toward the entrance beneath the bridge.

The wind off the river swept his hair back. He raised his head and saw a Pterosaur-Type Cursed Spirit hanging upside down beneath the bridge deck, its wings folded. Its slit pupils were fixed on him, and its slightly parted beak revealed densely packed rows of tiny teeth.

Gu Yanzhi cursed inwardly. It had found him already. He had suppressed his cursed energy and traveled through the sewers, not even daring to personally attack the low-level cursed spirits along the way-yet Dhruv Lakdawalla's shikigami had still pinpointed him. These pterosaurs' aerial surveillance coverage was denser than he had estimated.

Settling into a fighting stance, Gu Yanzhi said slowly,

"You bastards really are as hard to get rid of as sewer cockroaches."