The next day, at noon.
Sendai's streets bustled with people, the June sunlight almost painfully bright. Kenjaku and Kashimo walked side by side, one tall and one short, one perfectly at ease and the other looking around at everything. They looked rather like an older sister leading a country cousin who had just arrived in the city.
There was no helping it. Last night's affair had ended with Kenjaku conceding on every front. He had gone off to rent Kashimo an apartment, paying the deposit and rent without so much as blinking.
That was, of course, if you ignored his constant muttering about "still having to clean up your mess after four hundred years." Today, he had to take Kashimo clothes shopping, too. The unfortunate Curse User's original outfit was so old and dated that wearing it on the street made him look like a relic transported straight out of the Showa era.
"So," Kenjaku said, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets as his gaze drifted lazily over the storefronts, "how did you know back then that I'd live to see this era?"
He asked casually, as though discussing the weather.
Kashimo was tilting his head at the televisions displayed in a shop window. Some program he couldn't quite understand was playing on the screens. At the question, he looked away, his lips quirking slightly.
"I guessed."
He said it with absolute confidence and not a shred of shame.
Kenjaku faltered and turned to look at him, his expression a vivid picture of "you've got to be kidding me."
Kashimo didn't notice his look and added another remark on his own.
"And why aren't you even using honorifics when you talk to me anymore?"
He tilted his head slightly, his blue eyes flicking down at Kenjaku with a hint of disdain that suggested he considered it perfectly justified. He seemed to have completely forgotten that he had only just held out his hand for rent money last night.
Kenjaku stopped dead.
Standing in the sunlight, he lifted his head and faced Kashimo with Kaori Itadori's face. The corners of his mouth slowly curved upward-not a smile, but a dangerous signal that said, "try saying that again."
"Huh?"
He drew out the sound, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"You're living off me, and you still have the nerve to demand honorifics?"
He took a step forward, and Kashimo instinctively backed up half a step.
"Want to see me cancel your apartment lease right now?"
Kashimo opened his mouth, then swallowed the words on the tip of his tongue. He stared at Kenjaku's face, which had "just try me" written all over it, for two silent seconds. Then, wisely accepting the situation, he shut his mouth and looked elsewhere, pretending to take a keen interest in a takoyaki stand across the street.
Kenjaku snorted coldly and started walking again. Kashimo followed behind him, his figure, more than a head taller than Kenjaku, somehow looking rather deflated.
"There's a Six Eyes user in this era, too."
Kenjaku suddenly turned back to look at him, his tone laden with meaning.
"He might be even stronger than the one you killed four hundred years ago."
Kashimo was staring absently at a roadside crepe stand and didn't even raise his eyelids.
"Of course I know," he said flatly. "Tengen, the Star Plasma Vessel, and the Six Eyes-aren't those three bound together?"
Kenjaku's steps faltered. He turned to look at him, a hint of scrutiny entering his gaze.
"How do you know that?"
Kashimo finally tore his gaze away from the crepes and met Kenjaku's searching eyes, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.
"I guessed."
Kenjaku's expression froze for an instant.
He opened his mouth to say something, then forcibly swallowed it back down. His usual expressions-composure, elegance, unfathomable mystery-cycled across his face before finally settling into an exquisitely subtle look of frustration.
Kashimo was already striding ahead, leaving Kenjaku with the sight of his tall back, his turquoise hair dazzling in the sunlight.
"Hey," Kenjaku said, hurrying a couple of steps to catch up. "Did you really guess?"
"Mm."
"You're lying, aren't you?"
"Believe what you want."
"...What exactly did you learn during those four hundred years in your innate domain? Just how to bullshit people?"
Kashimo didn't answer, but the curve of his lips grew a little wider. Sunlight fell across his face, lending the purple markings at the corners of his eyes a faint sheen and making his blue eyes look even brighter.
Kenjaku stared at his profile for a good while before finally sighing in resignation and quickening his pace to follow.
They rounded a corner and entered a shopping mall.
Cool, air-conditioned air greeted them, carrying a faint fragrance that swept away the sweltering heat of the June noon outside. Kashimo couldn't help letting out a relieved breath, his whole body relaxing a little.
After all, Reverse Cursed Technique could only raise his body temperature, not lower it. The Curse User's lousy clothes were thick and stuffy, and the heat had long since begun getting on his nerves.
Unfortunately, he barely had time to enjoy the cool air before Kenjaku grabbed him and dragged him into the menswear section.
"Hurry up and pick some clothes," Kenjaku said, letting go and looking around the racks, impatience creeping into his tone. "I have things to do."
Kashimo scratched his head and stood where he was, scanning row after row of shirts, T-shirts, and jackets without the slightest clue what to look for.
That was a lie.
It wasn't that he "wasn't very good at choosing clothes." He had absolutely no idea how. Even before transmigrating, his wardrobe had contained nothing but a few plain, short-sleeved shirts, two pairs of trousers, and one jacket. He only replaced them when they wore out. Back then, he hadn't cared what he wore either. With leukemia, simply staying alive was good enough.
Kenjaku waited beside him for a few seconds. Seeing that he still hadn't reached for anything, and that his bewildered gaze kept wandering over the racks, Kenjaku's face slowly took on a resigned look that said, "I knew this would happen."
He sighed.
"Forget it... I'll do it."
Kenjaku pushed up his sleeves, even though his light jacket didn't actually have any sleeves to push up, and strode between the racks. His sharp gaze swept quickly over row after row of clothes. Every so often, he pointed at a piece, and the sales clerk following behind him hurriedly pulled it out and draped it over her arm.
One, two, five, ten...
He chose carefully, examining the color, cut, and fabric of each piece. Occasionally, he held one up against Kashimo, then frowned, shook his head, put it back, and tried another.
Kashimo simply stood there with his hands in his pockets, yawning as though none of this had anything to do with him.
More than a dozen pieces were selected and stacked neatly on the counter. The sales clerk smiled at Kenjaku, her fingers resting on the register as she asked politely.
"Will you be taking these?"
Kenjaku glanced at the clothes on the counter, then at those remaining on the racks, and spoke without expression.
"No."
He paused.
"I'll take everything except these."
The smile froze on the sales clerk's face.
"Ah..." She gave a strained little laugh, her gaze darting twice between Kenjaku and the walls full of clothes. "I-I'll get the manager."
Kenjaku clicked his tongue, shoved his hands into his pockets, and tilted his head, his face full of impatience.
"What a hassle."
Kashimo watched him from the side. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, then swiftly flattened again as he continued yawning as though nothing had happened.
Before long, a plump manager came jogging over. He first glanced at the pile of selected clothes on the counter, then at those still on the racks, and finally at Kenjaku's expressionless face, wearing a practiced, polished smile.
"Madam, how would you like to pay?"
Kenjaku pulled a card from his pocket, held it between two fingers, and slapped it onto the counter.
"Put it on my card."
Decisive, brisk, and extravagantly bold.
The plump manager accepted the card and began processing the payment with a smile. Kashimo stood beside them, his hands still in his pockets and his blue eyes narrowed slightly. Watching Kenjaku's back, he silently wondered.
Where on earth does he get his money?
But he didn't ask.
Asking would probably just get him called a freeloader again.
Forget it.