He and She (Part One)

(One)

If you asked thirteen-year-old Suguru Geto, "Do you love Kanagawa?"

The boy surrounded by other children would flash a cool smile, sling an arm around a friend's shoulders, and answer loudly.

Yes, I love Kanagawa.

Thirteen-year-old Suguru Geto had just started junior high. He had been born and raised in Kanagawa, and barring anything unexpected, he would never leave it in his lifetime.

Back then, he was an ordinary child.

Ordinary meant a junior high school life spent shuttling between the same three places, middling grades in science, parents who still loved him despite the occasional argument, and a life with no particular talents beyond good health.

Perhaps he did have a few things that made him stand out.

The thirteen-year-old boy wore his hair down to his shoulders, which was already unconventional in Kanagawa.

He was better-looking than most of his classmates, his narrow eyes distinctive among features that had yet to fully mature.

He was physically fit, thanks to an uncle who ran a martial arts school. He could not only protect himself but also stand up to bullies and help people in Kanagawa.

Most importantly, he was outgoing. Not as lively as those little rays of sunshine, but whenever friends chatted, he always managed to draw on a variety show he had watched or a magazine he had read, finding something to say that brightened the mood.

Boys like him were not everywhere in Tokyo or Kyoto, but neither were they rare. In Kanagawa, however, he was a precious treasure.

Kanagawa treated him well, so thirteen-year-old Suguru Geto naturally loved it.

But if you asked fifteen-year-old Suguru Geto, "Do you still love Kanagawa?"

Sitting in a classroom at Tokyo Jujutsu High, Suguru Geto would give a restrained smile and leave the question unanswered.

If you kept pressing, insisting that he answer whether he loved it or not...

The boy would only turn cold and reply in the stiffest, most indifferent tone.

I'm not going back.

He could no longer go back to Kanagawa.

(Two)

"Geto, once we finish the mission, let's head over to Tsukiji Market and eat at Yamato Sushi."

"Sure."

"Gojo, Tsukiji is miles from here. Even if we take the train, dinner time will be long over by the time we get there. Go by yourself if you want. I'm not going."

"Aww, but Geto already said yes. Two against one, Shoko. The minority has to go along with the majority."

"Who said we were voting? And Geto, are you seriously going to run off to Tsukiji Market with this guy at nine or ten at night just for dinner?"

When both classmates, whom he had known for less than a month, turned to look at Suguru Geto...

The boy who had always been so at ease with the simple friendships of his small town felt awkward and nervous again.

With practiced ease, he put on a gentle, accommodating smile. Between these two classmates whose distinctive personalities he still barely knew, he chose to defer to the girl with the beauty mark beside her eye.

"Where would you like to eat, Shoko?"

The short-haired girl took out her phone and swiped a few times, ignoring the noisy white-haired boy's protests.

"How about Tokyo Skytree? Haven't a bunch of new Western restaurants opened there?"

Born and raised in Tokyo, Shoko Ieiri carried herself with the effortless assurance particular to big-city girls.

And Satoru Gojo, born in Kyoto, a city every bit Tokyo's equal, was a young master who had grown up pampered in luxury. His innate carefree abandon fit perfectly into this city of steel and concrete.

But what about him, the small-town boy from Kanagawa?

When they took a taxi to Tokyo Skytree, Satoru Gojo loudly claimed the front passenger seat, leaving him and Shoko Ieiri in the back.

While Satoru Gojo was gesticulating at the car radio, the girl beside him suddenly asked him a question.

"Geto, do you actually know where Tsukiji Market is?"

The smile he had perfected since coming to Tokyo froze.

That was a teenage boy's pride for you: higher than the sky.

His voice came out dry, his smile carrying a trace of ingratiation that even he did not notice.

"Of course I do. It's just really far away, right?"

"Then why did you agree to go with Gojo?"

Suguru Geto struggled to keep smiling.

The girl meant no harm. Before turning sixteen, she had spent her entire junior high school years at a third-rate school in Tokyo, and its crowd of delinquent girls had unconsciously left her with a headlong, confrontational streak.

Her question came from curiosity, but also a little displeasure.

It had been a mission for all three of them. Why should Satoru Gojo alone get to decide what they ate for dinner?

Neither boy had asked what she wanted to eat, or whether she needed to return early and rest.

That was the awkward thing about a class with only three students.

Social expectations forced them to become friends. With no alternatives, the three of them clumsily tried to adjust to one another.

In Suguru Geto's eyes, that barely perceptible trace of displeasure in the girl was magnified beyond measure.

He pressed his lips together and apologized quietly.

Shoko Ieiri was visibly flustered. She had not wanted an apology, and even if she had, she would much rather have heard it from the thoughtless person in the front passenger seat.

The atmosphere in the back seat grew awkward. They each turned to look out the window, neither saying a word.

The tangles of teenage friendship came and went quickly. Once they reached the restaurant, its lively atmosphere seemed to make everything all right again.

Yet Suguru Geto still instinctively felt that he did not fit in with any of it.

The Western food consisted of steaks, fried dishes, salads, and pasta.

Looking at the menu, Suguru Geto felt nauseated.

He thought it might be the three Cursed Spirit Orbs.

After seeing how Satoru Gojo attacked during the mission, he had seemed spurred on by something. He had run into a corner and swallowed three Cursed Spirit Orbs in succession.

Three swallows, each followed by retching so sickening it made him physically ill.

His stomach had long since emptied. All he brought up was bitter bile.

He should have been hungry enough to eat a whole cow.

But now, he had no appetite at all.

The other two had already ordered, and once again, both turned their eyes toward him.

People were sensitive to being watched.

Being scanned, scrutinized, or stared at by two or more people instinctively made them nervous.

That nervousness could be suppressed through training, but Suguru Geto could not manage it yet.

He hastily ordered a plate of pasta, then joined their conversation.

Shoko Ieiri and Satoru Gojo were currently trading barbs. The guilt she had felt in the taxi had made her decide to aim her fire at the right person.

She did not care whether he was some young master from the Three Great Families. In an age of gender equality, if she was not respected, she would charge straight in and fight back.

"Gojo, could you show other people a little respect? You made Utahime cry last time."

"She cried because she's weak. What the hell does that have to do with me?"

"What the hell is wrong with your personality?"

"Nothing~ My personality's amazing~"

Adjusting to one another certainly sent sparks flying.

Suguru Geto could not get a word in, nor did he want to interrupt.

Neither Satoru Gojo nor Shoko Ieiri was the sort of person he had ever dealt with before.

In Kanagawa, surrounded by tall mountains and green trees, everyone was like an egg.

Without sharp edges, gentle and fragile.

At the thought of Kanagawa, a hint of sorrow surfaced in his eyes, but disgust quickly followed.

When all their food arrived, he discovered basil in his pasta.

He hated the taste of basil, so he did not touch it.

Beside him, Shoko Ieiri noticed and handed him the menu.

He smiled back at her and, to his surprise, found miso soup among the special options on the last page.

Would drinking miso soup in a Western restaurant make me seem strange?

Ever since leaving Kanagawa, the once-outgoing boy had become cautious.

It was as though he feared others would find him strange, feared they would see the traces of Kanagawa in him.

"Geto, you're ordering miso soup? That's so weird."

The boy, just about to place his order, swallowed the name of the dish before it could leave his mouth.

He knew Satoru Gojo meant nothing by it. That was just how Gojo was. On the very first day they met, he had pointed at Geto's hairstyle and made rude remarks.

Squinty eyes. Weird bangs.

Coming from a sixteen-year-old boy, did that not sound insulting?

So he and Satoru Gojo had fought as soon as they met. Only afterward had he realized the boy had done it deliberately, but not "deliberately."

It was like a child's innocent chatter.

To accept a personality like that, Suguru Geto could only console himself that Satoru Gojo had the mental age of three.

He was really dealing with a mischievous child.

But even when looking after children, their unfiltered words could often wound.

Like now, when his pride would not even let him ask for something he wanted to drink.

"Gojo, you demand chocolate parfaits at Japanese restaurants. You don't get to say that, do you?"

After coming to his rescue, Shoko Ieiri waved over a server. "One miso soup, please."

He turned toward her with a sincere, grateful smile. The girl gave him a look that said, You've had it rough.

Turning back, Suguru Geto thought that he did have a perfectly nice, normal classmate after all.

Until the miso soup arrived and Shoko Ieiri ordered two bottles of red wine to take back and drink by herself, at which point he promptly retracted that thought.

Holding the warm soup, he smelled not the light scent of miso but the rich aroma of beef bones, strong enough to stir every memory Suguru Geto had of Kanagawa.

"Why is it beef bone soup?"

He used a smile to hide the shock in his eyes.

"Does it matter? It smells pretty good anyway."

He gave a soothing, accommodating smile, remembering that this bowl of soup was a kind gesture from his classmate. By any measure, he could hardly refuse to drink it.

Suguru Geto was someone who forced himself to do things. Just as he forced himself to swallow Cursed Spirit Orbs despite utterly loathing their taste.

As he lifted the porcelain spoon to drink, Satoru Gojo, who had been playing with his phone and taking pictures all this time, suddenly snatched his soup away.

Then he drained it in one go and cried out in a strange, affected voice, "Shoko, I've been poisoned! My stomach hurts! My stomach hurts!"

"Gojo, are you serious?"

Bang!

The instant the girl finished speaking, a silent bullet shattered the bowl in Satoru Gojo's hand.

Then Satoru Gojo vanished into thin air.

"Geto, just now..."

"Shoko, go back to Jujutsu High first. I'll find Satoru."

After sending away his classmate, who could only use healing techniques, Suguru Geto returned to the restaurant and stared absently at the shattered bowl on the table.

Beef bone soup. Kanagawa.

Kanagawa. That "person."

He sank weakly onto a chair. Suddenly, he felt that the bullet should originally have been aimed at his head.

That "person" had come for him.

Looking at the bullet hole in the window, memories that had long lain dormant surged into Suguru Geto's mind.

He began to realize that to face that summer, he would have to kill that "person."