you had, in a manner of speaking, been consigned to a mission by the higher-ups, an excursion to extract a first grade curse out of its existence at tokyo. much to your dismay, you've been assigned with an disorganized class that effectuate tendencies to inflict havoc on the streets of shinjuku.

this particular band of sorcerers were not what you call professionally, except megumi himself. the boy's brooding presence was akin to a black cat, piercing gaze and all. you couldn't even recall the last time he smiled even for a jest. though you appreciated his silence before enduring the other rest of the group.

unlike yuji and nobara, imps that descended from the underworld to wreak misfit and their excessive banter was enough to cause a migraine that led terminal. particularly on a serialized mascot at a comic store, but you mustn't ventilate the lingering stares of judgement seething through the five of you out of embarrassment.

satoru, on the other hand, could only coaxed a nonchalant simper or two in satisfaction. unless deliberately joining in yuji and nobara's mayhem, his impulsive facetiousness and ardent teasing particularly aimed at megumi. the poor boy. but credits to him for his wit during the battlefield when you and the four fought the said curse.

you had since finished delivering the final blow before yuji insisted on getting skewers at the roadside yatai stall ahead. a vast tray of various choices to pick from, kushikatu defined by the oil residue that gradually began to evaporate beside the kushi. "woah—look! so many options!" the pink-haired boy exclaimed in sheer excitement, palms perched on the wooden table before your lower abdomen with his chest raised high.

nobara smacked the back of his head, hard. "hey! lower down! i can't see through your big head!" vociferated the ginger, her teeth gritted in agitation.

"can you two just shut the hell up for once?" megumi bellowed, abrupted by a snicker from the man in a black blindfold. "ah-ah. let them be." satoru tutted.