He doesn't know how the hell it happened or why he deserves this pain. Him, the strongest sorcerer of the modern era, bedridden because of a stupid fever. Satoru's splayed across his bed, eyes shut, lips parted as he pants. This must be a curse.

He startles when he hears a knock on his dorm's door, whipping his head toward it. When you peek your head in, he seems to relax slightly, making a show of coughing into his hand.

"Where were you? I'm dying over here, and you're out having fun."

He accuses, voice slightly raspy.