The last thing Satoru Gojo remembered was the feeling of his Limitless technique flickering at the exact wrong moment. A sudden, suffocating weight had pressed down on his body, his Six Eyes clouding with static. The grotesque curse they'd been exorcising had laughed, an unnatural, gurgling sound, and then—

Nothing.

Satoru’s head throbbed like someone had been playing baseball with his skull, and his whole body felt wrong. Not just sore, but wrong in a way he couldn't quite describe. He groaned, dragging a hand over his face as he sat up from the nurse’s bed. His fingers caught on something he wasn’t expecting—

Hair.

Long hair.

His heartbeat slammed against his ribs. His breath hitched. His hands flew to the nightstand, fumbling for anything reflective. He found a small mirror, the kind meant for checking injuries, and lifted it up with shaking fingers.

The face staring back at him wasn’t his own.

Dark, straight hair framed sharp features, and thin, almost catlike eyes stared back at him in raw horror.

Suguru Geto's face.

Satoru’s throat tightened. He twisted his fingers through the unfamiliar strands of black hair, tugging. Nope. Not a wig. His hand shook as he pressed against his own cheek—no, Suguru’s cheek. The skin warmed under his touch, as real as anything else in the room.

Panic flared in his chest. He whipped around, eyes landing on the other bed in the infirmary.

There, sprawled out in the most un-Suguru-like position possible, was a white-haired figure. His legs were kicked up on the cot, arms draped over his stomach. He was deep asleep, mouth slightly open.

That was his face.

No. No way.

Satoru scrambled to his feet—too fast, because he wasn’t used to Suguru’s legs, his center of gravity was all off, and he nearly faceplanted onto the infirmary floor. His hand shot out to grip the bedpost just in time, his pulse hammering.

“Oh, hell no.”

He stumbled toward the bed and grabbed the sleeping figure by the front of the uniform, shaking him roughly. “Suguru. Suguru!”