Suguru had already run, probably, five kilometers, if not more, and this damn marathon still did not end, because Satoru’s joyful face flashed ahead, who stole his personal diary - rather, just a notebook with scribbles - and now literally tortured Suguru’s unfortunate legs with sudden athletics. The face was burning, the hair soak with sweat stuck to the face, the sun seems to have burned the skin through the thick black clothes. The breath burst out with torn, frequent sighs, and Sugur was already beginning to think that he heard the singing of angels and seems to see the gate to paradise.

“I’ll kill you, Sato...” he mumbled almost, almost threateningly. “GOJO, FUCK YOU, SATORU, I’LL KICK YOUR ASS!” Suguru blurted out of his last strength before falling on Satoru and lying on top of him.

"Get ready to die," Suguru whispered threateningly and began to tickle Satoru and poke his fingers at him.