CHAPTER ONE
what can go wrong, will: part 1.
IN THIS MOMENT, if Mikio Fushiguro knows nothing else, she knows this: the night is dark and she is fucking tired. Exhaustion creeps into her young bones, and nestles a home in her muscles, weighing them down with heavy fatigue while she trudges up a concrete sidewalk worn by erosion from either hordes of daily footsteps, age, or a combination of the two. The weather is not quite on her side either; gelid breeze sidesteps the fabric of her uniform and slaps her skin as if she wasn't wearing anything to begin with.
Life grows tougher when one's existentially worn. Tasks that took little to no effort are taking everything she has now to complete, which isn't much. Soon, she'll have nothing left but bones. Even skin won't last forever.
She should curse the Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College for its lack of staff. It's because they barely have people that she's had to accompany Inumaki-senpai and Nanami-senpai on two separate occasions and was still expected to show up to Shoko Ieiri's office to shadow the chronic smoker of a medic (the irony is hilarious, isn't it?) with a smile on her face and no sign of complaints. Now that she really thought about it, she should just curse the world at large. The curse producing-masses outnumber the ones that can exterminate the curses at a rate that's almost laughable. And she would have. Laughed that is, had it not been for the burn of her twin brother's stare at the back of her neck.
Mikio didn't need to turn around to know exactly how Megumi looked. With his Stygian-black tresses that stared gravity in the eye and openly defied its laws the way they shot out in every direction, eyes the color of the sapphire women wore in their ears and on their fingers, hands haphazardly lodged in his pockets as if he couldn't even be bothered to defend himself if dangers bother to appear and a scowl that seemed permanently etched onto his face, her other half watches her with bated breath. She almost feels inclined to angle her head toward him and humor herself. To catch the way he's worriedly eyeing her, waiting for her legs to give out so he could intervene if he has to would be amusing, but Mikio's too tired to even muster a giggle, let alone a full belly laugh.
"Stop staring at me," she orders instead. "Your eyes'll get stuck like that."
"This is the third mission you've been on this week without rest," Megumi says, tone observing.
"It's been a busy week."
"It's only the third day of the week."
"What's your point, Megs?" she asks exasperatingly, turning towards him now.
A frown rests on his face, not that it ever leaves. "My point is that you're tired, and you should be back at the institute resting yourself."
"According to the higher ups, I'm right where I'm supposed to be." Mikio huffs with a laugh. It's bitter on her tongue, identical to the feeling she has towards the old geezers she— they all worked for.
The higher ups are all old cowards, terrified of anything that challenges ideals that are just as decrepit as they are. And while these cowards hide like any other would, they stray from the stereotype slightly. Fear is an emotion that provides one with two options: flee or fight. An ordinary person chooses one or the other. The elders of the sorcery world choose both. They cower at first, feigning weakness and the inability to fight. Later, they struck as puppeteers, orchestrating the very thing they're afraid of to be ripped apart before it has an inkling that it's them who've sent the cavalry. Mikio Fushiguro despises those wolves in sheep's clothing.
And they hate her right back. Not because she is a woman and not because she is his daughter (although both points have raised eyebrows, alarm or both in certain meetings), Mikio Fushiguro is hated because she cannot be understood. Nothing about her makes sense. Her conception and her abilities are two phenomena that the elders desperately tried to wrap their head around. When they could not, ignorance and confusion spiraled into fear and aversion. And yet, they haven't sent for her head to be returned to them on a stake. Not yet. For now, they play the role of the benevolent, allowing her to sleep under the same roof as sorcerers her age when they really think she should be in chains. Or in a coffin.
Maybe they're overworking me to send me there early, she thinks. That would make sense, and the bastards were wicked enough to conjure up a plan like that. If she were to keel over and die right now, it'd just be the end to the tale of poor old Mikio who bit off more than she could chew and ended up choking to death. It probably wouldn't even be traced back to them if the cause was physical exhaustion. The plan and its machiavellian nature is almost admirable. Might've succeeded too, had it been made to take down somebody, anybody else but her.
Something as arcadian as exhaustion cannot be expected to keep Mikio Fushiguro down. Even if her energy wanes, even if there seems no way possible for her to keep moving when she is completely empty, she will do so. And she will do so by spite.
Hell, it's probably the spite that has her walking beside Megumi still. His steps had fallen in sync with hers while she had disappeared into her mind and a childish part of her enjoyed the sight of her left foot moving at the same time as his. It was something she purposely made him do with her when they were younger. He always complained about it then, but here he is, doing it unconsciously without her constant pleas for it. Mikio's tempted to point it out, but she knows that Megumi'll stop the moment attention is brought to it. He's petty like that.
"We're here," he tells her.
Mikio looks up and finds that he's right. They stand in front of a giant building whose walls are painted a dreary grey that has begun to chip away in some places. Windows line off the expanse of its exterior in rows of four and a plaque identifies the place in white chalk inscriptions of kanji— Miyashiro Prefectural Sugisawa Third High School.
"Looks more like a prison," Mikio says, eyes scanning the building. "With more windows."
Megumi shakes his head and continues walking forward. Mikio follows behind; the soles of her shoes crunching the grass below her feet. Their trek takes them behind the school and up to a weathered Stevenson Screen where they were told the cursed object they were sent to obtain would be. The howls of dogs far off into the distance harmonizes with the distant blare of sirens and car honks, and the croaks of critters and hisses of snakes hiding deep in the bushes beyond the fence, giving the twins an ominous soundtrack for the night they're to have. Luckily, they don't scare easily.
"They're keeping a cursed object in a place like this? Could they be any dumber?" Megumi asks aloud. The question is simultaneously directed to himself mostly and rhetorical, but he doesn't mind if his sister had an input she wanted to add.
Mikio yawns, stretching her arms upward toward the black, starry sky so far that her shirt rises up from its tucked place in her uniform skirt. "Dumb or not, let's get it and get out of here," she mutters, swiveling in her heels to face the area they just walked from. She watches her brother appear and disappear in her peripheral as he takes the spot in front of her. Blue eyes circle the area with a curious suspicion. She has the duty of lookout and defense while Megumi's tasked with procuring the object itself, and the dagger locked within its holster latched to her skirt belt reminds her of her responsibility.
Upon closer inspection of the weather station, Megumi's surprised to see the latch is unlocked. Suspicious as it is, he still opens it with a semblance of hope that what's supposed to be there is still there. Hope, however, is the only thing he is left with, seeing as the space where the cursed object was supposed to be was vacant. Panic joins hope's side then, gripping at his throat and snatching the rationality right out of him. He crawls inside, atop and even under the wooden box with a franticness his usual composure never allowed him to exhibit.
His sister, deciding he's taking much too long to just grab a simple finger, turns to him with her face twist in the deepest scowl she can muster on energy reserves as low as hers are. "What's the hold-" The words get stuck in her mouth at the sight of her brother searching the grass like some sort of jewel collector. Or a dog, searching a spot to mark its territory with piss or fecal matter. "Megumi, what the hell are you doing?"
"It isn't here."
She's at his side before he knows it, shoving him out of the way to get a full view of the Stevenson Screen. "This isn't the time to be kidding around. That's a special grade cursed object we're talking about. It can't just be missing."
When the same reality kisses her as it did her twin, with the same cruelty and the same realization, the only thing Mikio could do is turn to her brother. Not to apologize and admit her wrongs, but to give him an order.
"Get Gojo on the phone, now."
──────────
AUTHOR'S NOTE——
and there you have it, folks. chapter one!
i'm so excited to hear what you guys think about mikio. her interactions, her character, all of it. i'm working on chapter two as we speak so expect to see more of the dear fushiguro twins soon.
love you all, stay safe and happy easter / passover if you celebrate!!!!