"Good night, Higuruma."
The white light faded.
Hiromi Higuruma's body silently turned to ash in the white light. There were no screams, no struggles, not even a muffled groan. He simply vanished, like a line of writing erased from paper, wiped clean without a trace.
Itadori had fought with everything he had to return to the scene. Dragging his battered body along, he watched it happen and froze. His mouth hung slightly open, his eyes wide, the slowly dispersing white dust of light reflected in his pupils. His chest still heaved violently. The bleeding from his severed arm had stopped, but not because of Reverse Cursed Technique. He had simply lost nearly all his blood. Half his uniform had been torn away, and the exposed skin was covered in bruises and gashes, like an old garment crumpled up and then barely smoothed out again.
The plan had been completely derailed.
What should I do?
At that moment, Itadori's confusion reached its peak.
It was not hesitation, not a weighing of options, but something deeper, darker, more suffocating. It was as though someone had pushed him off a cliff, leaving his limbs flailing in the air with nothing to grasp.
This enemy... is simply impossible to beat, isn't he?
The thought surfaced from the deepest recesses of his mind, like a hand reaching out of deep water and clamping tightly around his heart. He did not push it back down. He no longer had the strength.
"You're back, Itadori."
Kashimo's voice drifted over from across the way. He stood beside the fading white light, his teal hair stirring slightly in the gray gloom. Higuruma's blood still stained his hands, and fine flecks of ash clung between his fingers.
"The way you are now..." He tilted his head, Itadori's battered figure reflected