Frieren: — Chapter 99 - If You're a Friend, Help Lend a Hand—We're Just Missing You

BANG!

BANG!

The earth shook. The residential buildings stood silent and still.

In one frozen instant, the bricks along the side of a building bulged outward like startled flesh. Then the frame unfroze, the bricks at the crest of that arc burst free and scattered through the air, and two figures came with them.

"Urgh!"

Miguel crossed his arms over his chest, curling into himself like a withered bud, bracing against the onslaught bearing down from Gojo Satoru.

And in midair, Gojo Satoru had one foot planted just above Miguel's stomach, right arm cocked back, fist leveled at the man in front of him.

"Heave-ho!"

BOOM——!

Dust billowed up in rolling waves. The two figures barely tore apart.

,!

They adjusted, and from inside the gray haze two sets of arms thrust out at the same moment, driving toward each other.

CRACK!

Miguel's jaw locked tight. He swung his arm in a wide horizontal arc, the heavy sweep just barely skimmed over Gojo Satoru's head as he ducked beneath it.

Despite his unusually long limbs, Gojo moved with freakish agility. He kept his grip loose, raised his forearm to catch Miguel's swing, and then his arm blurred, seven, eight punches, hammered into Miguel's chest and stomach so fast they left afterimages.

"Cough — urgh!"

Each hit sent ripples spreading through muscle like rings on water. The dull force sank deep, transmitting straight into his organs, and Miguel felt profoundly sick.

THUD!

His shoe hit the ground hard. His free left hand swept backward and snatched something from behind him.

The black rope in his grip seemed to come alive, it shot out, coiled around a gas canister he had torn from some unknown apartment while crashing through the building, and hurled it straight at Gojo Satoru.

HISS!

The canister slowed the moment it reached the side of Gojo Satoru's face, unable to close the distance. But the black rope wrapped around it made contact with the surface of Gojo Satoru's body, and threw sparks.

Then,,

BOOM,,!,,!,,

Fire erupted.

Both of them were running. They separated again. Gojo Satoru covered one ear with a single hand, eyes sharpening to a glint, and closed the distance to Miguel in long, unhurried strides, because Miguel was clearly trying to retreat while he fought.

"This guy is way too much to handle!"

Miguel said it out loud.

Less than 2 minutes had passed since the fight started.

Gojo Satoru hadn't wasted words. He had simply teleported directly in front of Miguel and started swinging, as if he'd decided to dismantle him in the domain he was supposed to own.

Miguel was confident. He had every reason to be.

That confidence didn't rest only on his Cursed Technique and his body. It also rested on the tool he was carrying, the trump card Kenjaku had promised him.

[Special Grade Cursed Tool: Black Rope]

Passed down through generations of Miguel's family. Woven across a vast span of time.

Its ability: disrupt the construction of Cursed Techniques.

Even [Limitless] bends under it.

The rope burns away with use, but it remains a tool in a class of its own.

Miguel had accepted that his full package, Curse Strength, physique, Cursed Technique, hand-to-hand, would lose to Gojo Satoru's full package. But if Cursed Technique was taken off the table, and it came down to Curse Strength, physique, and martial skill alone...

He would not lose.

THUD! BANG!

They slammed into each other at close range, fists and feet flying, afterimages crossing in the air between them.

But the longer it went, the colder the feeling in Miguel's gut grew.

[Prayer Song], through Technique Disclosure paired with Cursed Energy reinforcement, had briefly pushed his close-quarters ability to the level where he could stall Himmel.

Under normal circumstances, using it to stall Gojo Satoru should have been just as viable.

But there was a miscalculation buried in that logic.

Himmel's strength came from his body and his technique. The reason Miguel had been able to grind against him at all was simple: Himmel had never once drawn his sword. Not from the first exchange to the last.

If killing intent had been in the equation, Miguel would have died.

He had assumed Gojo Satoru worked the same way.

He was wrong.

"Cursed Technique: Blue."

Gojo Satoru used it at point-blank range, right in Miguel's face.

"!"

Miguel's instinct fired, interrupt it. But the instant his arm extended to swing the rope, Gojo caught the movement. His lips pulled into something ugly. With a savage yank he seized one end of the rope, reversed the pull, dragged Miguel straight toward him, and drove a knee up into his gut.

"Puh — urgh!"

The color drained from Miguel's face. Every muscle in it crumpled.

[To cancel Gojo Satoru's Cursed Technique, Miguel had to touch the technique directly with the Black Rope.]

[But doing that meant showing his hand.]

[Which meant Gojo Satoru could read that intent and use it against him.]

[In the original timeline, Gojo Satoru had never once faced an equal. He would never have developed this kind of combat thinking.]

[But,, ]

"You're way easier than Himmel."

The biggest flaw in Miguel's calculation was this:

Gojo Satoru's 9 years had not been 9 years without opponents.

The strongest sorcerer alive at this very moment had fought peers. More than once.

BANG!

Gojo laughed, teeth showing, eyes wild, and his fist hammered out with the full weight of that long arm behind it. The impact hit Miguel across the side of the face with a familiar, biting sting.

.

For a split second, the world went out.

Miguel stayed on his feet through willpower alone. Barely. He wrenched the distance open, dragged the Black Rope across the ground and split it wide, sending rubble scattering through the air like foam, enough to block sightlines, then threw himself behind a large chunk of debris.

"Cough... cough, cough, cough!"

He pressed his hand to his chest, fighting to get his breathing under control, gulping air.

On the other side of that rubble, Gojo Satoru stood with both hands in his pockets.

"So what are you killing yourself for, anyway?"

Maybe he'd taken a liking to the Cursed Tool. Maybe he'd taken a liking to Miguel. Either way, he didn't mind talking.

"You're not an idiot, right? You actually trust that guy?"

He meant Kenjaku. Gojo could guess how it had gone, Kenjaku playing the role of Haibara Yu, a thousand-year-old monster running psychological games behind a warm, bright face. Approachable. Easy to like.

Still. Surely not this easy to fool?

"Is it the dark skin thing?"

"HEY! You just said something incredibly racist without even flinching!"

Miguel couldn't hold it back.

"Sorry, sorry."

Gojo laughed, unbothered. But the moment Miguel's voice hit the air, he had already pinpointed exactly where it was coming from.

Whoosh,,

He teleported. Miguel barely had time to register terror before the kick landed, slamming into that expression of shock and barely-formed fury.

Surging wind tore the cover apart. Rubble flew. Miguel spun through the air.

But even as he fought to recover, spinning, twisting, struggling, a thought moved through him.

(That Haibara can't be trusted. I know that. I've always known that.)

(That's exactly why,, )

..................

.......

The [Veil] was entirely black. Looking outward from within felt like being sealed inside an overturned pot. Those inside couldn't see out. Those outside couldn't see in. Yet light still seeped through, just enough to keep the interior at the brightness of daylight.

BZZZT!

The fluorescent lights in the corridor flickered once. The empty hallway was dead quiet.

Class 3-3.

Dozens of desks had been pushed together, legs locked against legs. Light from outside filtered in through the windows, somewhere between reddish-brown and dusky yellow.

Okkotsu Yuta lay at the center of it all, arms folded over his stomach.

His breathing was shallow. His eyelashes trembled, faint and intermittent. He did not wake.

"Kenjaku" leaned against the doorframe with his arms folded, waiting for the ritual to finish. His smile was different today, not the smooth, composed expression he usually wore. This one carried something clearer. Lighter. A transparent kind of pleasure.

He hummed quietly to himself. Then, at a certain moment, his head snapped up.

[HMMM..........!]

The entire school shook.

The classroom rocked with it. The overhead lights swung side to side. The window frames rattled softly in their casings.

Kenjaku swayed, caught his balance, and smiled again.

He looked toward the [Veil].

"So Gojo Satoru has arrived... How dramatic. He's not seriously going to just rip the barrier down, is he?"

How wonderful. I'd like to step outside and take a look myself.

"Hey." A voice from inside the classroom. "What exactly are you trying to do?"

"Hm?"

A powerfully built man. A woman with sharp, precise features.

Larue and Manami.

"You haven't forgotten our agreement." Manami's eyes were dangerous as she looked at him, every word placed with deliberate weight. "Kenjaku."

Kenjaku.

The name of the most wicked Curse User in history, spoken plainly into the air.

Both sides knew who the other was. They had known for some time. And still the partnership held.

There was a reason for that.

While Himmel had been training Yuta, Kenjaku had not been sitting still.

He understood his own plan clearly. Manami and Larue were useful, but the real axis of victory was Miguel and the Black Rope. He needed the rope to seal Okkotsu Yuta. He needed Miguel and the rope together to keep Gojo Satoru occupied.

And while all of that was happening, he still needed to make his move on Yuta himself.

By any reasonable logic, it was impossible.

Unless...

[Binding Vow.]

"Haven't we already signed one?"

Kenjaku smiled at Manami, gentle as ever.

The terms were as follows:

[Manami, Larue, and Miguel's side: Miguel must be responsible for stalling Gojo Satoru during the operation, and partial usage rights of the Black Rope must be extended. None of the three are permitted to harm Kenjaku.]

[Kenjaku's side: Likewise must not harm Manami, Larue, or Miguel. After the operation concludes, 200 million yen must be prepared, the safety of all three must be guaranteed, and the current Jujutsu world is promised to be destroyed.]

And there was one more term. The most important one.

The Curse Users weren't fools. They had seen Kenjaku's Cursed Technique. They had seen his connection to Cursed Spirits. They had drawn the obvious conclusion, that Kenjaku might want Yuta's body for himself.

So they had demanded one more clause:

[Kenjaku promises not to use his brain-transplant technique on Yuta.]

Precisely through those brutal terms, Kenjaku had purchased the cooperation of all three of them.

But.

If that was the case, what was the point of keeping Yuta alive at all? What had all that careful effort been for?

As if confirming the words of Mahito.

Neither Himmel nor Kenjaku was looking at the present. Both of them seemed to be looking toward a future no one else could see or reach.

And the contest between them...

Would be settled with Okkotsu Yuta at its center.

➤ Next: Dayu, Time for Your Medicine