Chapter 1—
The room felt emptier without Yuji.
Megumi didn't think that consciously. He didn't let himself. But the space where Yuji used to sprawl—too loud, too alive—was now clean, unused, and irritatingly intact. Like the world had decided nothing important was missing.
Gojo leaned against the desk, blindfold tilted slightly as if he were bored by gravity itself.
"Alright," he said lightly. "Standard mission. Grade One. No bonus points, no festival, no cheering audience."
Megumi straightened. "Location?"
Haruto's pulse gave a single, hard thump against his ribs.
A Grade One.
Finally—something with weight. He kept his hands loose in his pockets.
"Old municipal archive," Gojo continued. "Records no one's needed in decades. Perfect place for something that doesn't want to be remembered."
Megumi frowned. A Grade One wasn't standard cleanup. "Why send just—"
"—You won't be alone."
That was when Megumi noticed the other presence properly.
The boy stood a little off to the side, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed to the point of looking careless. Around Megumi's age. Slim. Cerulean eyes that didn't stare so much as layer—as if they were looking at two versions of the room at once.
When those eyes settled on Megumi, they didn't just register the frown.
They caught the potential of it.
The sharp, real line of his mouth—
and superimposed over it, faint but unmistakable, a deeper scowl. Older. Heavier. The kind worn by someone who'd already decided not to expect help.
That one's been carrying weight for a while, Haruto thought. Interesting.
He smiled. "Haruto. I'll try not to get in the way."
Megumi didn't return the smile. "Shadowing?"
"Yep," Gojo said. "Think of it as… work-study."
Haruto tilted his head. "I prefer 'unwelcome educational experience.'"
Gojo laughed. Megumi didn't.
"What's his technique?" Megumi asked flatly.
Haruto's smile sharpened—not offended, just alert. He waited.
Gojo waved a hand. "You'll see. Think of him as situational."
Megumi disliked that answer immediately.
"Rules?" Megumi asked.
"Same as always," Gojo said. "Exorcise the curse. Minimize collateral damage. Don't die."
Then, quieter—almost deliberate:
"And Megumi… don't rush."
Megumi's jaw tightened. "I won't."
Haruto watched him closely, eyes catching something else now—the way Megumi's cursed energy held steady not because it was calm, but because it refused to waver.
"Any questions?" Gojo asked.
Haruto raised a finger. "Yeah. Is the building still trying to exist," he said, gaze drifting to a water stain spreading across the ceiling, "or has everyone's memory of it already faded enough that it's halfway gone?"
Gojo's smile widened, unreadable beneath the blindfold.
Thirty-seven seconds, he thought. Not bad.
"See?" Gojo said aloud. "You'll learn a lot from each other."
Megumi didn't like that either.
As they turned to leave, Megumi felt it again—that faint, irrational sensation. Like something was already missing, and no one had noticed yet.
Haruto lingered for half a second longer.
Actual: desks, walls, quiet.
Potential: absence, pressure, a story beginning to coalesce where memory frayed.
He followed Megumi out without another word.
They didn't talk at first.
The city slid past them in muted layers—wet pavement, flickering signage, commuters wrapped in their own inertia. Megumi walked half a step ahead, pace efficient, eyes forward. Haruto matched him easily, hands still in his pockets, gaze drifting.
Too much drifting, if Megumi was honest.
"You always look around like that?" Megumi asked finally.
"Like what?"
"Like you're not here."
Haruto smiled faintly. "I am. I'm just… checking the margins."
Megumi didn't ask what that meant. He adjusted the strap of his bag instead. "This isn't a sightseeing trip. Grade One curses don't wait."
"I know," Haruto said. "They anticipate."
Megumi stopped walking.
Haruto halted instantly—no delay, no surprise.
Megumi turned. "Explain."
Haruto blinked once, then sighed, as if deciding how much truth was efficient. "Places like archives? They're built to be ignored. Once people stop expecting anything from them, something else steps in to fill the gap."
Megumi studied him. No cursed energy spike. No visible technique. Just words.
"You sensed the curse already," Megumi said.
"Not it," Haruto corrected. "What it wants."
They resumed walking.
The closer they got, the heavier the air felt—not oppressive, just… thin. Like sound didn't travel as far as it should. Haruto's eyes caught it immediately.
Actual: streets, buildings, traffic.
Potential: corners that didn't want to be remembered. Shadows that stayed a second too long.
Megumi noticed Haruto slow. "Something wrong?"
"No," Haruto said. "Something incomplete."
Megumi frowned. "If you're picking up cursed energy, say it."
"I am," Haruto replied calmly. "Just not the kind you're thinking of."
That earned him another look. Sharper this time.
"You talk like you don't care," Megumi said. "But you're watching everything."
Haruto glanced sideways. For a moment, Megumi felt like he was being measured—not judged, not threatened, just… assessed.
"Someone has to," Haruto said lightly. "You're very good at deciding what needs to die. I'm better at noticing what's already halfway gone."
Megumi didn't respond immediately.
Yuji would've.
That thought surfaced uninvited—and vanished just as quickly.
"Stay behind me," Megumi said instead. "If this curse messes with perception, I'll handle the front."
Haruto hummed. "That's generous."
"It's tactical."
"Sure," Haruto said. Then, softer: "Just don't disappear on me."
Megumi stiffened. "I won't."
Haruto believed him. Not because of confidence—but because Megumi's cursed energy didn't imagine retreat. It imagined endurance.
The archive loomed ahead, squat and forgotten, its entrance half-shadowed despite the daylight.
Haruto felt it then—a gentle pull. Not hunger.
An invitation.
The archive's doors were unlocked.
That, more than anything else, bothered Megumi.
The building sat hunched between newer concrete blocks, its signage faded to near-illegibility. The glass doors slid open with a tired whine, as if relieved someone had finally remembered it existed.
Inside, the air was stale—but not dusty. Too clean. Like someone had tidied up and then forgotten why.
Rows of shelves stretched into the distance, each labeled with dates and departments that no longer existed. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, some flickering, others glowing steadily enough to make the darker gaps between aisles feel intentional.
Megumi stepped in first, cursed energy spreading low and controlled. "No immediate hostility."
Haruto followed, slower.
Actual: shelves, paper, silence.
Potential: gaps. Hollows. Spaces where something had been removed but left an outline behind.
His eyes lingered on a directory map near the entrance. Half the letters had been scratched away—not vandalized, just… worn down, like they'd never been reinforced by memory.
"Does this place feel smaller to you?" Haruto asked.
Megumi glanced around. "It's an archive. They're always like this."
"No," Haruto said quietly. "It feels like it's trying to be."
They moved deeper. Footsteps echoed inconsistently—sometimes too loudly, sometimes not at all. Megumi marked their path automatically, counting turns, exits, fallback routes.
Then he realized he'd stopped marking one.
He frowned, retracing his steps mentally.
Did we pass the east wing yet?
"Megumi," Haruto said.
"What?"
"You just walked past the same cabinet twice."
Megumi stiffened. "No, I didn't."
Haruto pointed. The label read Education Records — 1998–2002.
They'd passed it already. Megumi was sure of it.
A thin chill crept up his spine.
"That's not possible," Megumi said, more to himself than Haruto.
Haruto crouched, brushing his fingers against the floor. "It's not looping. It's… thinning."
Megumi didn't like that wording. "Define."
"Think of memory like weight," Haruto said. "If no one remembers a place, it gets lighter. Easier to move. Easier to misplace."
A file slid from a shelf nearby and hit the floor with a dull thud.
Both of them turned.
The folder lay open, its pages blank.
Megumi reached down, frowning deeper as he flipped through it. "There should be something here."
"There was," Haruto said.
The lights flickered—once, sharply.
For a split second, the aisle ahead looked shorter.
Megumi straightened. "This curse—"
He stopped.
The word he'd been reaching for didn't come.
Haruto looked up at him, smile gone entirely.
"Megumi," he said carefully. "Why did you just stop talking?"
Megumi opened his mouth.
Closed it.
"…Why are we here?"
The archive hummed softly, as if pleased.
Megumi didn't like the silence after his question.
"Why are we here?"
The words echoed too long, stretching thin before dissolving into the hum of the lights. He searched his memory immediately—mission briefing, location, objective—but it felt like reaching into water and coming back with air.
Haruto stood very still.
"You know why," Haruto said, carefully, like he was approaching a skittish animal. "You told me on the way here."
Megumi frowned. "I did?"
"Yes."
"…About what?"
That was wrong. Megumi knew it was wrong. The certainty sat in his chest like a lodged shard, even as the details refused to surface.
Haruto exhaled through his nose. "Okay. Don't panic. That's probably what it wants."
Megumi snapped his eyes to him. "What wants?"
Haruto didn't answer immediately. Instead, he walked to the nearest shelf and pushed.
It slid.
Not tipped—slid, like the floor beneath it had briefly forgotten friction. The shelf drifted a few centimeters, then stopped.
Megumi's cursed energy flared instinctively. "Spatial distortion?"
"No," Haruto said. "Conceptual."
He tapped the side of his head. "This place isn't attacking us directly. It's erasing anchors."
Megumi clenched his jaw. "You're saying it's messing with cognition."
"Yes. Selectively." Haruto met his eyes. "Yours is already affected."
Megumi hated how calm Haruto sounded. "And you?"
Haruto hesitated for half a second too long.
"I'm compensating."
Before Megumi could press further, the lights cut out.
Total darkness.
Not the kind cursed energy could immediately pierce—this was absence, like the light had been removed rather than turned off.
Megumi summoned Divine Dogs on instinct.
They didn't appear.
"…Tch."
Haruto sucked in a breath. "Okay. That's bad."
A sound came from the aisle to their left.
Paper sliding. Slow. Deliberate.
Then footsteps.
Too many.
Megumi raised his hand, cursed energy pooling—but the shape of the technique felt… fuzzy. Like trying to recall a word that kept slipping just out of reach.
The footsteps stopped.
Something spoke.
Not aloud.
The thought pressed directly against Megumi's mind:
If you don't remember why you're here… do you still need to leave?
Megumi staggered, one knee hitting the floor.
"Megumi!" Haruto moved instantly, grabbing his shoulder. The contact was grounding—real. Solid.
Haruto's cursed energy spiked.
Not violently. Precisely.
For a brief second, Megumi saw it—Haruto's technique brushing reality, sketching a thin outline over the dark like chalk on blackboard.
The darkness recoiled.
Just a little.
Haruto grimaced. "Yeah. It noticed me."
The lights flickered back on.
The shelves were closer now.
Not moved—converged.
The archive was shrinking.
Megumi forced himself upright, breathing hard. "Haruto… don't hold back."
Haruto's smile was tight, eyes sharp with focus.
"Then stop forgetting," he said. "Because once this thing realizes what people think I am—"
A file cabinet slammed shut on its own.
The sound rang like a verdict.
Haruto finished softly:
"—it's going to start believing it too."
The archive groaned.
Not a sound of strain—more like recognition.
Megumi felt it before he understood it. The air thickened, pressure building unevenly, as if the room itself was being remembered incorrectly. The shelves leaned inward another inch.
Haruto didn't move.
His eyes had changed.
The cerulean pattern within them rotated slowly now, not frantic, not strained—deliberate. Like lenses aligning. The darkness in the corners of the archive wasn't empty anymore. It was crowded with half-ideas, outlines of things that could exist if someone believed hard enough.
"This is a bad matchup for you," Haruto said, voice calm, almost apologetic. "You fight with structure. Shikigami. Rules."
Megumi swallowed. "And you?"
"I fight with doubt."
The thought pressed into Megumi's mind again, stronger this time.
What are you supposed to be?
Haruto tilted his head, considering the question like it was sincere.
"That's the funny part," he replied aloud. "People can't agree."
His cursed energy unfurled.
Not in a burst—not a wave—but a definition.
The darkness near the ceiling warped first, bending as if sketched over by an invisible hand. Lines formed. Not solid yet. Proposals.
Megumi's breath caught.
A figure emerged halfway—humanoid, unfinished. Its face was smooth, featureless, but its posture radiated intent. Pressure crashed down on the room, forcing Megumi's instincts to scream danger.
"Fantasist," Haruto said quietly.
The thing solidified.
Only because Megumi saw it.
Only because, in that moment, Megumi believed Haruto was capable of something terrifying.
The curse reacted instantly.
The shelves screamed as they shattered outward, paper exploding into the air. From the debris, the curse finally revealed itself—not a body, but a gap. A void where something should have been. Every time Megumi tried to focus on it, the details slid away.
Haruto grimaced. "Yeah. That tracks."
The void pulsed.
Megumi's vision blurred—names, facts, even his own breathing pattern threatening to dissolve.
"Haruto!" he snapped. "Now!"
Haruto stepped forward.
The manifested figure moved with him, mirroring his intent.
"Fine," Haruto muttered. "Let's make this simple."
He raised his hand.
The pressure inverted.
The void stuttered.
For the first time, the curse hesitated—caught between what it was and what it feared becoming.
Haruto's smile sharpened, a flicker of something dangerous leaking through.
"You erase what people forget," he said. "So let's test something."
His eyes locked onto the curse.
"What happens when you're afraid of being remembered wrong?"
The archive fractured.
Cracks ran through space itself.
And somewhere far above them, a blindfolded man smiled.