𝐂𝐲𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐜 ʲᵘʲᵘˢᵗᵘ ᵏᵃⁱˢᵉⁿ

three.

It's been five months since you've been forced to learn under Shoko's tutelage.

During that time, you've come to learn of her other duties: specifically, her frequent trips to the morgue.

The first time you went, you thought you wouldn't be able to stay: the place reeks of death and decay, some days more so than others.

You're surprised none of the visits have triggered your gag reflex yet.

It also makes your respect for Shoko skyrocket, having the initial thought that she dealt with the sick and the sick alone.

You'd now grown to get used to her routine, to the extent of helping around more ever since you showed tangible signs of improvement.

It had been a slow afternoon then. One of the first years–you forgot her name–was admitted by... her classmate? You're not entirely sure if you could call the panda looking cursed puppet a student, but anyhow, he'd rushed into the room with the unconscious girl in his arms.

Ieiri was out to get more packs of cigarettes, so instead of her sleep-deprived self going to greet them, they came face to face with you.

Unsure of what to do, you phone your mentor right away, who told you to simply sit tight. The silence whilst you waited was deafening, until the panda broke it by asking for your name.

You revealed it a little reluctantly, to which his eyes lit up in recognition. He admitted to have heard of you from Satoru, but never saw you around campus. Short after, Shoko returned, and you were both left to your own devices, with only the sound of the injured first year's ragged breaths filling the room.

After several minutes, she turned to you.

"Would you like to try?"

You could only blink at her suggestion.

"Huh?"

The previous patients you helped her with only had mild injuries, and even then they were 'healed' by you absorbing their wounds.

"Her condition is stable now, but there's a laceration in her right arm that I haven't fully healed."

It took a lot of inner conflict, but you eventually caved.

It'll do you good if you didn't have to experience that nasty looking cut, so you were really hoping it wouldn't come down to that.

"It's a cursed wound, so be careful."

Indeed it was. It was fainter than before thanks to Ieiri's work, but you could still sense traces of something ominous.

Siphoning reversed energy to your dominant hand, you took a deep breath.

I don't want that on my arm, so please stay away from me. You think, grimacing as you went to touch the green-haired girl's hand, eyes screwing shut.

Stay away from me.

You waited for the pain, but it never came.

When your eyes reopen, you are met with the sight of a clean arm, and a–dare you say–proud looking Ieiri.

Since then, it had been a little easier for you to not always rely on Transmission. It went from zero out of ten tries to three, to five, and now, seven.

Another thing you've learned, is that you seem to spend more energy than the average sorcerer.

You've been introduced to more serious injuries not too long ago, and you'd feel just the tiniest bit light-headed after tending to the first patient. It went ignored until the day you had to heal multiple people with medium to heavy injuries.