Chapter 11. Where Wormwood Bloomed (Part 1)

I had a dream. It was my hometown from a past life. Grey high-rises, wet asphalt, bare trees, and all-around snow... There was so much of it that it seemed as if it was falling from the sky in a solid wall. In the distance, the neon sign of some store was visible, and on the other side of the road, a street lamp illuminated the bus stop. I never thought I would miss this gloomy atmosphere…

At that moment, I tilted my head back towards the sky. Through the gray clouds and the veil of snow, the sun was visible—very strange, unfamiliar to me, and not fitting into the scene around me. It was black, its rays were black, and there was a feeling as if it was colder than the winters of my early childhood. The more I stared, the more blurred the sun seemed, but I couldn't look away because it felt like I would miss something very important. I don't know how long I stood there, maybe there were no seconds at all, or perhaps it was several hours, but at a certain moment, I panicked and recoiled. A moment earlier, I saw the sun blink, but it wasn't like that... It didn't blink... Up there, far beyond the sky, on the surface of the sun, an eye blinked.

"...Sir," a muffled echo rolled through this world. As if it were a spell shattering the illusion, the world around me began to crack, as if it were glass, starting from the gray skyscrapers and ending with the sun, which, in the end, turned and stared at me.

"... apologize, sir," the voice sounded clearer. The world began to crumble into shards, starting with the gray skyscrapers and ending with the sun, which, in the end, turned and stared at me.

"...I apologize, sir," a short conductor in a neat uniform stood half a meter away from me. Typical for the Japanese, black hair was neatly arranged to the side, and black eyes stared at me with concern from underglasses.

"Minus five?" I shook my head, too thick a lens for this, more like minus four.

"I'm sorry?" the conductor asked, puzzled.

Ignoring him, rubbing my eyes, I reached into my pocket.

"Your ticket, sir," bowing slightly and forcing a smile, the conductor addressed me.

"Of course," I pulled out a slightly crumpled ticket from my pocket.

"Fourth car, first row, seat D," the man read aloud, checking himself, then, lifting his gaze, looked at the number of my seat. Making sure everything was in order, he tore off the ticket stub and handed it to me. "Have a pleasant journey, sir."

I just smiled at him, squeezing the stub between my index and middle fingers. The conductor turned around and walked to the next passenger.

Yawning sweetly, I look around. On the right, triple rows of seats, in front and behind - doubles, and on the left, a window of tempered glass... When the giant metal monster rushes forward at a speed of four hundred kilometers per hour, you have to twist and use glass that is installed on armored vehicles.

The fourth car, first row, seat D... Still holding the ticket stub, I remembered my first trip on the Shinkansen. Back then, I asked my grandfather, "How come the first car of the Shinkansen is at the back?" — naturally, this was when the old man was still... alive. Yami, the elder, replied, "Whichever car is closest to Tokyo is considered the first."

"How does that work?"

"The closest to Tokyo is the first car, the one behind it is the second. So when we go to where you were born, the first car ends up at the tail, and when we return to Tokyo, it becomes the head of the train," the old man paused, looking out the window. "When the Shinkansen goes to Tokyo, they say it's going uphill, and the trains coming from Tokyo are descending from the mountain. So everything revolves around Tokyo."

There was something strange about the fact that such a bureaucratic country like Japan was permeated with symbolism in various forms. Returning to reality, there were so many people around that during each stop, when people, not realizing it was time, started exiting the train, it was impossible to move. It had been quite a while since I was last here, so I couldn't say if such chaos was normal. But I wouldn't be surprised if someone told me that there was a special event happening nearby today.

Thank God we live in times when air conditioners have been invented, and industrialization has been realized, or else it would have been quite a struggle. Twirling the thick stub around my index finger, I still couldn't shake off the feeling of bewilderment about the fact that there were so many people on the "Kyoto-Tokyo" train in the middle of August. However, I just faintly shook my head, trying not to fill my mind with unnecessary thoughts, and turned away to look out the window. At that very moment, passing by my train in the opposite direction, a Shinkansen headed to Kyoto, so fast that it turned into a blurry streak.

The "Kyoto-Tokyo" train shakes with a tremor.

I felt a hidden thrill before the all-encompassing speed and power. Just imagine if someone happened to be in the path of the speeding Shinkansen — they would be instantly pulverized into the tiniest particles. Even I probably wouldn't withstand that; only Sukuna and Satoru could likely remain unharmed... Can this be considered an indicator that I'm still not strong enough?

"Shinkansen Index," I muttered to myself with a slight smirk.

It's been a little over three months since Yuta Okkotsu enrolled in Tokyo Metropolitan Magic Technical School. For the guy, this period has completely changed his life, from ordinary habits to philosophical aspects. For me, almost nothing has changed, except now there are four tired and beaten classmates lying at my feet instead of three.

Staring into the emptiness ahead, I noticed the blue neon screen.

Name: Yami Sukehiro

Path: Red Priest - Low Sequence 7: Pyromaniac

Acting Process: 78%

Abilities: [Enhanced Physical Attributes - High Rank], [Heightened Senses - High Rank], [Trap Mastery - High Rank], [Survival Knowledge - High Rank], [Spirituality - High Rank], [Sense of Danger - High Rank], [Provocation - High Rank]

New Abilities: [Pyrokinesis - High Rank], [Fire Spells – Medium Rank], [Fire Resistance - Medium Rank]

The higher the percentage of the acting process, the more challenging it was to elevate it. Initially, this scale filled easily if I simply incinerated my opponent, but after fifty percent, I had to get creative and use various variations of "ignition." The first mission with Maki was a vivid example of this; I could have easily burned the curse with a fiery spear or a sufficiently large fireball, but instead, I blew up the entire building along with the curse. And that's the essence of the "Acting Process"—the more I immersed myself in the role of my Sequence, the better I understood my abilities, finding new ways to use them. The side effect of such development was that during the "Acting Process," I became so immersed in the role that I could adopt some habits of my Sequence. For example, I would feel uneasy if I couldn't track down my "prey"; subconsciously, I analyzed the people around me for their "weak points" that I could exploit in tandem with [Provocation]. And now, I've come to enjoy watching things burn, and when I say "things," I mean not only material things but also, for example, life... Watching my opponent's life burn away brought a strange satisfaction. Not that I became some kind of maniac, not at all, but it further fueled my desire for a good fight.

"Sukehiro, are you okay?" suddenly called out the guy sitting beside me, resembling a typical Japanese gangsters. His artificially dyed blond hair stuck out in all directions — it's hard to say whether he intentionally styled it that way or just couldn't be bothered to comb it after getting out of bed in the morning. The indifference in his eyes and the contemptuously curved line of his mouth, there is a complete indifference not only to work but also to everything that is happening around him.

"I'm fine," I nodded, asking in return. "How about you? How's your wound?"

"What wound?" he frowned, asking again.

"Well, the one you got tonight when the curse almost beheaded you. The cut on your cheek," his partner, a good-looking guy with long black hair, blue eyes, pink lips, and piercings, interjected into the conversation. With his informal appearance, he seemed like a black sheep in this train car.

"Don't talk nonsense, Kirara. When was I cut?"

"When you, idiot, were saved by Sukehiro."

Kirara points a finger at me.

I silently shift my gaze between Kinji and Kirara. No matter how much time passes, these guys won't change, except maybe Kirara will end up looking even more like a girl.

"I'm not such an idiot as to let myself get cut, let alone get a wound on my face, so leave me alone."

And how did I end up in this situation? It was supposed to be a routine mission to rescue a couple of sorcerers, but in the end, I found myself in the middle of "Cirque du Soleil".

"Well, where did you get that cut on your cheek, then? You've got a red stripe from here to there. I even heard how it happened: that nasty creature circled you and jabbed its claw into your cheek, and you screamed in pain."

"It would never occur to me to scream over such a trifle. If I screamed, it was only because dodging that insignificance was no easier than pulling a tooth. So I screamed out of disappointment. Like, is he really that slow?! So this thing on my face is not a wound. It's just ordinary eczema. I have an allergy."

"I've never seen eczema in my life that looked like a wound."

"And are you the creator of eczema?"

"I'm what?" Kirara even opened his mouth in surprise.

"Well, I'm asking, are you personally responsible for all eczema and allergies in the world? No? Or maybe you're engaged in critiquing allergies and want to challenge my personal seventeen-year allergic history? What exactly do you want to know about eczema?"

"I don't deny anything. And I'm not the creator of eczema. It's just that what you have is not eczema."

What a bunch of idiots. I shook my head in dismay. This was supposed to be some kind of plan to exchange Sorcerers between the Kyoto and Tokyo schools, but why did they send these... disgraceful guys to Kyoto? And if they were just eccentric individuals, there wouldn't be a problem, since which Sorcerer wasn't a bit odd? But no! These guys always turn everything into a two-actor play, even in the most tense and inappropriate moments. If something happens, Kinji immediately bristles up and starts spouting wild assumptions that he comes up with on the spot. Regardless of whether Kirara denies the accusations thrown at him or just stops listening to him, he still doesn't shut up.

"Guys," I interrupt their highly intellectual, humor-filled, and philosophically profound dialogue.

"What do you want?" Kirara asks.

"What do you want?" Kinji asks.