The number annoyed him. Three weeks of daily sweeps with Megumi and Nobara, and the balance barely moved. Satoru kept throwing them Grade 3 and Grade 4 curses. Each Grade 3 only gave him 5 points. It was pocket change.
He hadn't triggered a single new achievement. No bonuses. No hidden drops.
Back in Kawasaki, he hit the 100-kill milestone and got a massive payout. The next milestone was probably 500 or 1,000 kills. At his current pace, that would take years. The System clearly didn't care about him grinding weak trash mobs.
It rewarded risk. Jumping a Special Grade like Mahito dropped 25,000 points in his lap. Beating up weak curses in empty parking garages gave him nothing.
Ren swiped the blue screen away. The Goodwill Event started in three days. The Kyoto students were arriving. More importantly, he knew the disaster curses were going to crash the event. Hanami. Juzo. The bald guy with the hand-sword.
That was his goldmine. He tapped his knuckles against the window sill, running the possibilities in his head.
What was the next achievement? Defeat a Jujutsu Sorcerer? Kill a Special Grade? Survive a Domain Expansion?
"Stop tapping the glass," Nobara muttered, crossing her arms tighter. "You're giving me a headache."
"My bad," Ren said, dropping his hand.
...
The heavy metal doors of the morgue clicked shut.
Normally, the subterranean room smelled strictly of industrial bleach and burnt tobacco. Today, it smelled like freshly roasted coffee beans.
Ren slouched in a rickety metal folding chair across from the desk. His phone vibrated on his knee. The screen lit up with a new message from
Maki: Get to the field. 50 laps. Now.
Ren stared at the text for a second, swiped the notification away, and locked the screen.
"Training is so boring," Ren muttered, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling.
Across the room, Shoko Ieiri sat at her desk. Her feet were propped up on the edge of a metal filing cabinet, right next to a mountain of paperwork. She didn't look up from the medical chart in her lap. She just lifted a ceramic mug to her lips and took a slow, deep sip.
Three weeks ago, the corner of the room behind her was just an empty stainless steel counter. Now, a high-end espresso machine, a burr grinder, and a compact mini-fridge sat neatly next to the biohazard bins.
When Ren first hauled the boxes down the mountain path, Shoko had threatened to lock the doors. She bluntly reminded him that she ran a sterile medical facility, not a café. But then Ren handed her the first cup of perfectly brewed dark roast. She drank it, set the cup down, and never complained about the machine again.
Shoko lowered her mug. Her brown eyes, framed by deep, chronic dark circles, flicked over to Ren.
"If you keep hiding down here, Maki is going to break my door off its hinges," Shoko said. Her voice was dry and completely devoid of inflection.
"She won't," Ren said easily. He stood up and walked over to the stainless steel counter. He pulled a fresh bag of beans from the cabinet. "She hates the smell of this room. It's the perfect bunker."
Shoko pulled an unlit cigarette from her lab coat pocket and rested it between her lips.
"You're using my morgue to dodge your girlfriend's conditioning drills."
"I'm providing essential medical support," Ren corrected. He poured the beans into the grinder and flipped the switch. The loud, grinding mechanical noise briefly drowned out the faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. "You need real caffeine to function. I need a place to sit where nobody swings a wooden pole at my head."
The grinder clicked off. Ren tapped the dark grounds into the portafilter and locked it into the machine.
Shoko watched him work for a long second. She let out a soft huff, her expression completely unimpressed.
"Make me another one," Shoko ordered flatly.
Ren smirked, pulling a clean mug from the rack. "See? Essential support."
...
Three days later. The Goodwill Event.
The afternoon sun beat down on the courtyard, radiating heat off the stone steps. Nobara's boot tapped a rapid, impatient beat against the concrete, her arms folded tight across her chest.
Megumi stood beside her, staring a hole into the empty air. Behind them, Maki leaned her weight on her wooden polearm, flanked by Panda and Toge.
Footsteps crunched over the gravel. Utahime led the Kyoto students up the path, with Todo, Mai, Miwa, Mechamaru, Momo, and Kamo forming a loose, unenthusiastic line a few feet away.
"Where are the souvenirs?" Nobara asked, her voice sharp enough to make Momo flinch.
Utahime rubbed her temples. "Where is that idiot?"
"Sorry I'm late!"
The squeak of rubber wheels cut through the tension. Gojo strolled into the clearing, casually pushing a metal utility cart carrying a massive pink box. He tossed small protective charms to the thoroughly unimpressed Kyoto students, then clapped his hands and spun toward his own class.
"And for the Tokyo team! A special surprise!"
The lid flew off. Yuji burst out of the box, throwing both hands in the air.
"OPPAPI!" He flashed a massive, goofy grin.
Nobody moved. Nobody made a sound.
Utahime frowned. The Kyoto students just looked at each other in confusion.
All the color drained from Megumi's face. Nobara's jaw dropped before her features hardened into something lethal.
Ren kept his hands shoved deep in his pockets.
Yuji's smile started to slip. He slowly lowered his arms, his eyes darting between Megumi and Nobara before finally locking onto the transfer student.
"Ren?" Yuji asked, a bead of sweat rolling down his cheek. "You didn't tell them?"
Nobara slowly turned her head. A vein pulsed visibly at her temple. "You knew."
Ren didn't blink. He met her glare with a perfectly deadpan expression. "I have no idea who this kid is."
"Hey!" Yuji protested from inside the box.
Nobara ignored him. She crossed the distance in three strides and drove her heavy combat boot hard into the pink cardboard. The metal cart rattled violently from the impact.
"Explain. Now," she said.