Chapter Text
Osaka Prefecture, December 29, 2009
Ugh, these curse users are so weak. Weren’t they supposed to be powerful or something? They’re boring as hell.
At least Satoru got a few fingers out of it, so this little trip wasn’t a complete waste of his time.
There’s only one curse user left now. They’re in the basement, and they have a way more cursed energy than anyone else here did, but it feels... off. Interesting. Why haven’t they come to fight him yet?
Satoru decides to take the scenic route—actually walking down the stairs instead of warping—and he won’t recognize until later how lucky that decision is.
The room is small and mostly empty, with only a table in the corner and a few cardboard boxes in front of it.
The energy signature focuses under the table behind the boxes, huddled and—shaking?
Listening close, he hears hiccupping breaths and what sounds like muffled sobs.
Okay, this is weird. Nothing feels particularly like a trap, and the only cursed energy left in the building is coming from whoever this is, but he still approaches with caution.
And when he sees, Satoru's heart stops in his chest.
It's a little girl.
Dark hair falls in waves over her face as she cries, holding her head, and there are scars all over her forearms and hands.
She jumps when he speaks, "Hey there."
Watery blue-green eyes dart up to his as she clutches a plushie of a whale shark tightly—she looks at him with such fear. When it's his enemy, he relishes that look. But from her? It makes Satoru hurt in a way he didn't know he could.
Jesus Christ. What the fuck is a child doing here? She can't be older than Megumi, so maybe 6 years old? 7? At the most.
Renewed disgust for the curse users in this stupid fucking cult flares. Now he wishes he had taken his time, made them all suffer more.
Cowering from him is the expected reaction, but still makes Satoru's heart ache. In an effort to make her more comfortable, he pulls the blindfold off.
With the cloth no longer obscuring his eyes, he can see her in stark clarity. Fucking hell, what did these people do to this girl?
Her cursed energy feels like a hybrid of—he can't even tell what. It's like dozens of different colors of yarn, all tangled together into one huge, fucked up rainbow ball. He's never seen anything like it before.
When he lifts his hands in a show of innocence, she flinches. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm here to help, I promise."
Wariness settles in her eyes on the last word, and he wants to kill everyone here all over again.
"Pinky promise, even."
"...pinky promise?" Her voice is soft and quiet, nearly a whisper, like she's afraid to make too much noise.
"Yeah! You hook your pinkies together and squeeze reaaaaally hard, and then you make your promise."
"Here." He holds out his pinky, wiggles it a little, and it makes her lips lift minutely. Slowly, like she's expecting something to happen, she extends her own shaking hand and grasps his pinky with hers.
When their skin touches, it's a split second of sensation, like nothing he's ever experienced before. Visceral horror. A terrible silence. Loneliness and sorrow and so, so, so much pain.
With a small squeeze, he says, "I pinky promise I'm not gonna hurt you, and that I want to help."
It's like something was sparked inside her after he said that. Her eyes light up—barely, but it's still noticeable to Satoru—and after squeezing back, she doesn't let go. Sitting up straighter, it's like she's suddenly been given renewed energy. The rainbow ball fluctuates—glows and grows.
The movements reveal her neck and collarbone, and Satoru can only think of one other time in his life he's felt such indescribable rage before.
There's a scar, ranging from just below her left ear to the end of her right collarbone. What the fuck.
Still, he smiles at her, taking extra care to keep his voice soft, calm. "What's your name? Mine's Satoru."
A moment of hesitation.
"Kanae."