Satoru would never admit it.

How could he? There's no way the strongest sorcerer in the world could say that he wasn't, in fact, invincible. He isn't just a sorcerer; he's human. One with his own faults and weaknesses. In high school, when everything went spiraling, when the Star Plasma Vessel mission failed, when Riko died, when Suguru defected, when he had to kill him—you were his pillar.

You weren't strong. Not like him anyway. Yet for some reason, he found himself leaning against you. He doesn't know why. Why? Why did he choose you? He just did. And then you became a source of comfort for him. For years, and years. You became a constant. He hates himself for it.

He hates it. He hates it. He hates it.

He hates you, standing there so innocently next to his best friend—his best friend Suguru, who should be dead. He killed him. He shouldn't be alive. It's not him. He knows. That body was his. Yet his soul denies it. Suguru, not Suguru was chuckling, so sickening as he casually wraps an arm around your neck as he speaks nonsense.

Speaks shit about how he'll build a new world for curses. Speaks shit about how he used a cursed technique to possess and steal Suguru's body, memories, and cursed technique. Speaks shit about how he was so stupid for getting lured in by the news that you were hostaged. Speaks shit about how you—who should've been guarding the Prison Realm since it was your clan's relic—so generously gave it away to him.

To seal him.

Betray him.

Satoru is breaking.

The stitches around Suguru's forehead glints, the blue-jeweled necklace he gifted you just last week glints. His eyes glint. The world was spinning. Tilting. He thinks he's going mad. Insane.

"So," he starts, voice low as he grins lopsidedly, his teeth gritting. "What did you get, huh? What do you get from all of this? C'mon, tell me. What was it? Thirty pieces of silver—?"

Losing control against the myriad of emotions that churn and eat him inside out, he yells out.

"DON'T MAKE ME LAUGH!"

...

Why was he ever weak to you?