Good kitty!

Yan Si stretched out his other hand and swept it through an arc in the air, regaining his balance.

"Whoa~"

Yan Si let out an exclamation of pure delight, not a trace of his happiness feigned. "Good kitty! This is fun. Do it again~"

Satoru Gojo ignored him, but ground his teeth.

You goddamn bastard!!!

The instant Yan Si finished saying "do it again,"

Satoru Gojo abruptly veered right. The turn was nearly ninety degrees, with no decrease in speed, and he leaned so far to the side that it looked as though he might topple over.

Yan Si's body was flung to the left, half of him already beyond the span of Satoru Gojo's shoulders. He looked seconds away from flying off and crashing into the wall.

But a moment later, he twisted hard through his core, rotating his body slightly in midair. He forcibly corrected his downward trajectory and landed back on Satoru Gojo's right shoulder.

On one foot.

The toes of Yan Si's right foot rested on Satoru Gojo's right shoulder, his left leg extended behind him for balance and both arms held out level.

His posture was open and steady. He even freed up a hand to brush his windblown bangs aside.

"Ten points for technique," he muttered to himself. Satisfied with his own assessment, he nodded. "I'm amazing~"

He even thought Shoko and Suguru Geto ought to pay him something for watching.

Satoru Gojo heard Yan Si talking to himself.

His jaw clenched even tighter.

Over the next minute, Satoru Gojo tried abrupt stops and starts, weaving in an S-shaped path, successive sharp turns, running with high knees, suddenly crouching and jumping up, and a whole series of other moves he improvised to shake him off.

His athletic ability was on full display in that brief minute.

Speed, explosive power, coordination, reflexes-every one of them far exceeded those of an ordinary person.

But that only made it more fun for Yan Si.

When Satoru Gojo changed direction, he followed; when Satoru Gojo accelerated, he lowered his center of gravity; when Satoru Gojo stopped short, he leaned forward with the momentum, then pulled himself back through his core.

Their rhythms gradually fell into sync. It no longer even looked as though Satoru Gojo was trying to shake him off, but more like a flawlessly coordinated acrobatic duet.

Suguru Geto watched from the sidelines, dumbfounded.

He had opened his book again, but had not turned a single page since Satoru Gojo started sprinting.

His gaze followed the figure moving at high speed in the middle of the training grounds.

No, the two figures moving at high speed.

With his powers of observation, he could tell that Satoru Gojo genuinely wanted to throw Yan Si off.

Every change of speed and every sharp turn had a clear intention behind it. He was not holding back at all.

But Yan Si's responses were far too efficient. Every movement precisely counteracted the inertial force Satoru Gojo created, as though he already knew what would happen next.

Suguru Geto closed his book, giving up on pretending to read altogether.

At some point, Shoko had stood up and walked over beside him, a lollipop in her mouth and both hands tucked into the pockets of her white coat.

"What is this supposed to be?" Shoko watched the two-man performance on the training grounds, her tone perfectly flat. "A test of the limits of human resistance to centrifugal force?"

"More like some sort of performance art," Suguru Geto said.

"The artist and his canvas?" Shoko asked.

Suguru Geto considered it. "The artist and his paint might be more accurate."

On the training grounds, the white-haired boy being treated as paint finally stopped.

It was not a tactical adjustment, nor had he come up with a new plan.

It was simply the combined effect of physical exhaustion and psychological damage.

Satoru Gojo bent over with his hands braced on his knees, panting heavily. Sweat slid down his forehead and dripped from the bridge of his nose onto the ground.

His stamina was excellent, but he had gone almost all out during that ordeal. Combined with his intense emotional fluctuations, it had drained several times more energy than his usual training.

Yan Si, meanwhile, jumped down from his shoulder, landing lightly on both feet.

His breathing was steady and his complexion unchanged. His hair was a little windblown, but he was in excellent spirits, looking refreshed and invigorated, as though he had just finished a pleasant morning workout.

"Thanks for the hard work, kitty." Yan Si thanked him with complete solemnity, an unmistakable smile in his Kansai dialect. "You did an outstanding job atoning for your sins. I'm very satisfied."

He was in such a good mood that he did not call him "Dead Cat."

Satoru Gojo straightened up and was about to say something when his gaze suddenly fell on his own hair.

His hair was white. Pure white, the Gojo Clan's signature hair color.

Even a little dust usually stood out on it. Now, through the lenses of his sunglasses, he could clearly see a patch of pale red on the few strands hanging over his forehead.

He pulled a lock of hair in front of his eyes.

Dark red streaks were scattered unevenly among the white strands, extending from root to tip, deliberately smeared there by some vile bastard's fingers.

Remembering how Yan Si had kept hold of his hair while standing on his shoulders, then remembering the dried blood on Yan Si's arms...

Satoru Gojo's pupils widened slightly.

"Yan-Si-"

He bit out the name, one syllable at a time.

Yan Si had already reached the entrance to the training grounds and was about to push the door open. Hearing his full name, he glanced back, looking innocent and confused. "Hmm?"

"What's this blood in my hair."

His tone made it a statement, not a question.

Satoru Gojo had already identified the culprit. He was merely waiting for a confession.

Yan Si blinked, gave it a second of serious thought, then offered a sincere smile.

"Maybe we were running too fast and the wind was too strong, so it accidentally rubbed off on you."

Haha, actually, I just did it while I was at it. I don't even know why. Hehe.

"..."

"Want me to wash it for you?" Yan Si tilted his head. "I said I'd wash it. Clothes and hair together-a package deal."

Give me your head. I'll toss it into the washing machine with the clothes.

Satoru Gojo took a deep breath.

The air in the training grounds fell silent for a full three seconds.

Then Satoru Gojo strode toward the door. He did not stop as he passed Yan Si, merely reached out the instant their shoulders brushed and planted his palm squarely on Yan Si's face.

His entire palm, covering everything from forehead to chin.

And shoved him aside.

Yan Si stumbled back two steps, the back of his head hitting the doorframe with a soft thud.

[Points +1]

By the time he opened his eyes, Satoru Gojo had already left the training grounds, his back disappearing at the end of the corridor.

Yan Si touched his face. There was a thin coating where the palm had pressed against it.

Satoru Gojo's hand had also picked up dried blood when he grabbed his hair earlier.

Now, his warm fingers had stamped that blood evenly across Yan Si's forehead, nose, and cheeks, forming an incomplete handprint.

Yan Si stood there laughing silently, the corners of his eyes and mouth lifting. His purple eyes curved into two lovely crescents as he leaned against the doorframe, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

What a bargain.

Looks like I can keep playing next time.

One shove in exchange for over ten minutes of horseback riding.

Yep.

Excellent.

Suguru Geto and Shoko walked out of the training grounds. As they passed the doorway, they both glanced down at Yan Si, who was still leaning against the frame and laughing, then looked away at the same time and exchanged a glance.

"Do you think he's normal?" Shoko asked, her tone objective and calm.

Suguru Geto pondered for two seconds. "Hard to say."

"Then is Gojo normal?"

"...Also hard to say."

Shoko nodded, shifted the lollipop in her mouth from left to right, then right to left. After repeating that three times, she delivered her diagnosis.

"Neither of them is normal."

At the end of the corridor, Satoru Gojo walked with long, brisk strides, his expression somewhere between angry and not angry.

The blood in his hair stood out starkly under the corridor lights.

When he reached the corner, some inexplicable impulse made him glance back toward the training grounds.

Then he immediately turned his head forward and kept walking.

He took three steps.

And glanced back again.

This time, he saw Yan Si emerge from the training grounds with his handprint on his face, wiping the blood away with the back of his hand and laughing as he did.

Bastard!

Satoru Gojo turned his head forward, quickened his pace, and turned into the stairwell at the end of the corridor.

The stairwell was quiet, filled only by the sound of his footsteps on the stairs.

He stopped at the first landing and raised a hand to touch his hair.

His fingertips brushed the dried blood, rough and slightly gritty.

He should have been angry.

But what occupied his mind just then was not the blood, nor that cry of "giddyup," nor even the fact that he had spent the entire afternoon being teased like a cat.

He was thinking about the angle of Yan Si's body as he leaned into a sharp turn on his shoulders, and the curve of his lips in the instant he was flung off.

It had not been a nervous smile.

It had been a happy one.

Satoru Gojo had never met anyone like him before.

A nasty, arrogant thrill-seeker with no fear of death.

Fifteen-year-old Satoru Gojo stood in the stairwell for a while, then raised a hand and swept back the bangs that had been stained pale pink with blood. Lost in thought, he resumed climbing the stairs.

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