SwordSwoSword Chapter 7

Chapter 7

“I enveloped each of his balls within a spirit-energy membrane, which looks like a shiny gold ball about five centimeters across.”

Turbo Granny’s raspy voice carried lazily from where her porcelain cat-body was sprawled on a weathered bench.

Her tail twitched, bored, as if she were describing something as mundane as marbles instead of objects brimming with spiritual energy.

“If you see one, I expect you’ll recognize it immediately.”

Momo’s brow twitched, her hands already pulling aside a thick tangle of thorny bushes. Okarun, on his knees in the dirt, dug furiously around the roots of a tree.

Both of them looked ridiculous—like two kids combing a sandbox for treasure—but the desperation in Okarun’s voice made it hard to laugh.

“I’m not seeing them anywhere,” Okarun growled, his voice muffled as he shoved his arm up to the elbow in weeds. “I’ve checked every damn corner of this park!”

Momo kicked at a stray soda can and let out an equally frustrated groan. “It’s no use! We’ll never find something that tiny!”

The abandoned park was otherwise silent, save for the crunch of leaves and the occasional rustle of a startled crow. Their voices bounced off the empty swingset and cracked pavement, sounding louder than usual in the stillness.

“If you’ve searched this much and still haven’t found them…” Turbo Granny yawned with deliberate indifference, her ceramic mouth stretching in a mocking little grin.

“It could mean they’ve already been taken.”

Both Momo and Okarun froze mid-motion, their anger swelling into sharp disbelief.

“What do you mean by ‘taken’?” Momo snapped, her hands balling into fists.

The porcelain cat gave her a lazy look, blinking as if this explanation should’ve been obvious.

“A powerful life force dwells within those balls. Spirits, yokai, monsters—they’re drawn to such things. If anyone’s sniffed them out already, well…” she rolled onto her side, batting at the bench’s peeling wood with her porcelain paw, “…say goodbye to your little treasures.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Even Okarun’s frantic digging stopped cold.

Emiya, meanwhile, hadn’t moved from his post against the tree. His eyes had been scanning the park the entire time, not searching in the traditional sense but letting his magecraft ripple through the area.

Every fence post, every scrap of concrete, every dead patch of grass—the structure and composition of this place had already passed through his mind, analyzed and rejected.

If the golden spheres were here, he would’ve found them the second they stepped foot into the park.

Now, his jaw tightened. Turbo Granny’s words confirmed his own quiet suspicion.

“If they collect a powerful life force,” the old spirit continued, “they can come back to life… or so they believe. That’s why evil spirits attack humans to begin with: to rob them of that force.”

Momo’s shoulders stiffened. Okarun’s face paled. Even Emiya’s expression darkened further, the faintest crease of his brow betraying what was running through his mind.

“This is bad,” Momo said, turning abruptly to face him. “If someone has already taken his balls, then—then what? We’ll never get them back?”

Emiya didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he pushed himself off the tree and walked toward the bench, his boots crunching against gravel. His gaze stayed firmly on Turbo Granny’s ceramic body, his voice low, sharp.

“Search is over,” he said, cutting across their panic. “Takakura’s balls aren’t here. If they were, I would’ve sensed them long before you turned over a single bush.”

His tone was matter-of-fact, but the steel beneath it made both Momo and Okarun fall silent.

“If what you said is true,” he continued, looming over Turbo Granny now, “then Takakura’s balls are no longer just his problem. They’re a beacon. A weapon. And in the wrong hands, they could unleash something none of us want to deal with.”

The weight of his words hung heavily over the trio.

Okarun’s fists tightened at his sides, his frustration boiling over into helpless anger. Momo’s lips pressed thin as her mind raced with possibilities.

And Turbo Granny? She blinked up at Emiya, utterly unfazed. “Why’re you telling me all that?” she sneered.

That was the final straw.

A vein bulged on Okarun’s forehead, and Momo’s patience snapped like a twig.

“YOU LITTLE TWERP! YOU”RE THE ONE WHO LOST THEM!” Momo lunged forward, stomping on the porcelain body with a vengeance. Each impact rattled the bench, a sharp ‘clack clack clack’ echoing as her shoe smacked against ceramic.

“YOU HELP LOOK FOR THEM TOO, DAMMIT!” Okarun roared, joining her in a flurry of stomps.

“YoW!! STOP, YOU LITTLE TURDS!!” Turbo Granny yowled, flailing her tiny cat legs. “OW! OW! I’M OLD, RESPECT YOUR ELDERS—ACK!!”

STOMPSTOMPSTOMP!

Emiya exhaled heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose as though their childish outburst physically pained him more than the threat of cursed relics.

But he didn’t intervene. Maybe, he thought grimly, the spirit deserved it.

“WAIT!! OUCH! NO, NO—ACK!!” Turbo Granny screeched, writhing beneath the double assault.

Finally, after nearly a full minute of stomping, Momo and Okarun stepped back, breathing hard. Whether it was because they’d satisfied their frustration or simply run out of stamina, neither could say.

“We’d better head back and figure out another plan,” Momo muttered, brushing dust from her skirt with sharp, irritated swipes.

“You’re right,” Okarun agreed, glaring daggers at the flattened porcelain figure on the bench.

Turbo Granny groaned, her once-pristine cat form scuffed with dirt and cracks. “I swear… I won’t forget how you treated me…”

Emiya’s eyes lingered on her for a moment before shifting away, his thoughts already running ahead. The idea of Takakura’s golden spheres—life force sealed into compact, volatile cores—falling into malicious hands sat in his chest like lead.

He’d seen weapons made from worse. He’d seen entire wars fought over less.

For all his long, bloodied history, never once had he thought he’d be standing in an abandoned park in Japan, watching two teenagers stomp on a cat-shaped spirit…

As all this was happening, Emiya was only concerned for one thing: that Takakura’s golden-enveloped balls could become a weapon in the wrong hands…

…he never thought that he would have that kind of thinking throughout his long life.

After all this, they finally went back.

The wooden floor creaked under their steps as the trio slipped back into the Ayase residence, weariness and irritations clinging to them like dust.

The air was thick with the faint aroma of incense Seiko had burned earlier, a habit of hers to ward off bad spirits—or maybe just bad moods.

She was waiting in the living room, a half-empty cup of tea in her hands, her gaze sharp the moment they walked in.

“So? Did you find them?” she asked, cutting straight to the point.

Momo and Okarun exchanged a look, their shoulders slumping at the same time.

“…No,” Okarun muttered, voice flat with frustration.

Momo crossed her arms, scowling. “Not a trace. If those things were ever in that park, they’re long gone.”

Seiko let out a heavy sigh, setting her cup down on the table with a soft clack.

“Figures. Without a single clue, it’s hopeless. Chasing shadows in the dark…” Her tone was edged with disappointment, though it wasn’t aimed at them.

Okarun grimaced, tugging at the hem of his hoodie. “…So what do we do?”

“I can ask an acquaintance of mine if they’ve acquired any new balls intel.”

That really made everyone confused.

“Balls intel?” Okarun asked, muttering in the process.

Seiko leaned forward, eyes narrowing with the weight of her words. “What you don’t do is forget. Those powers of Turbo Granny’s—you’re still carrying them inside you. Just ‘cause they’ve stayed quiet lately doesn’t mean they’re gone. Doesn’t mean they’re safe either.”

The room fell silent for a heartbeat. Momo’s mouth tightened, but her gaze flicked toward Okarun, concern buried beneath her usual sharpness. Okarun froze, his hands clenching at his sides.

Emiya stood off to the side, arms folded, his expression calm but his eyes cold and calculating. At Seiko’s words, his gaze sharpened further.

‘All her power inside him… strong, dormant, barely stable. That kind of curse is never silent for long.’

“Seems it didn’t go haywire this time, but that don’t mean it ain’t dangerous.” Seiko’s voice softened. “Now stay out of trouble until we know more.”

Okarun swallowed hard, his face shadowed with unease. “…yes, ma’am!” he said, though it was clear the words didn’t erase the fear gnawing at him.

For a moment, Emiya’s stare lingered on him, his mind already moving through possibilities, contingencies.

Breaking the tension, Okarun rubbed the back of his neck, trying to brush it off.

“Well… I should head home. It’s getting late.” His voice wavered slightly, betraying the heaviness he carried with him as he shuffled toward the door.

Momo didn’t say anything to stop him. She only watched as he left, her expression unreadable, before letting out a huff and turning toward the staircase.

“I’m going to my room as well… it’s already super late~” she announced abruptly, stomping up the stairs with more force than necessary.

Seiko leaned back into the sofa, closing her eyes and exhaling slowly, as if the air itself carried a weight.

That left Emiya standing in the quiet, his mind turning not just on Okarun’s problem with ‘his missing balls’—but on Okarun’s problem with having Turbo Granny’s powers as well

“Don’t think about it~” Seiko melodically said to Emiya while looking at the ceilings.

“Just what it is do you think I’m thinking?” Emiya asked, feeling a little curious if Seiko also thought of the same thing.

“Don’t think about using that weird jagged dagger to erase it~” Seiko melodically confirmed it and he was starting to get annoyed that Seiko could always be able to know what he was thinking.

“You said it yourself, he could be dangerous with all that power within him—“ he wanted to justify his way of thinking to Seiko, but he got cut off immediately.

“Don’t think about making that kid ball-less for the rest of his life~ because we don’t know what kinda effect it will have but most likely, it will release her powers to the outside or/and make him cannot produce babies or testosterone anymore~”

Seiko, again, melodically cut off Emiya’s justification.

This made him have a vein growing on his forehead.

“Fine, then I’m going to my room,” he really did not want to continue the conversation. For this time, he would trust Seiko’s judgment….

At the very least, until there was a sign everything would go haywire… or something.

“Goodnight, son~” Seiko melodically said to him. While all of this had been happening, she only looked at the ceiling in a lazy stance and manner.

Even though she was being rather lazy, Seiko knew that Turbo Granny was eavesdropping in the corner of the doorway. Even though the cat figurine’s stature was so small, it wasn’t like Seiko didn’t monitor her every movement.

‘Eh, it’s not like she can do anything about it…’ she thought while still lazily looking at the ceiling.

---

The morning sunlight cut through the classroom windows in soft golden beams, painting the dust motes drifting lazily through the air.

The teacher’s voice droned on at the front, chalk screeching faintly across the blackboard as formulas and notes filled the space.

Around him, the other students scribbled in their notebooks, whispered to each other, or fought the urge to nod off.

Emiya, however, sat unnervingly still.

His chin rested lightly on his hand, eyes pointed toward the board, but there was no light of attention in them. His mind wasn’t here—not in this classroom, not in this lesson.

His thoughts dragged him back to last night, looping over Seiko’s words again and again.

‘Turbo Granny’s power still lingers within Takakura.’

It hadn’t erupted, not yet.

Emiya knew it better than most. He’d seen what unstable energy could do. What it always did.

His brows furrowed slightly. ‘If it goes haywire… what then?’

Images flickered in his mind—Okarun’s normally goofy, awkward face twisted into something monstrous, his body wreathed in spectral energy, Turbo Granny’s cackling voice spewing from his throat. The idea wasn’t far-fetched.

Emiya’s hand tightened around his pen until the plastic creaked faintly.

His instincts whispered the same truth Seiko had dismissed last night: one clean strike with Rule Breaker, one decisive cut, and the danger would be gone.

Okarun would be safe from possession. Momo would be safe. Everyone around them would be safe.

…But the cost was too clear. Seiko had spelled it out with her usual sing-song voice:

“No babies, no testosterone, maybe no future at all for him.”

Emiya exhaled through his nose, leaning back in his chair. That wasn’t a choice to take lightly.

The clock ticked sluggishly at the front of the classroom, the drone of the teacher’s voice washing over Emiya like a background hum. Chalk squeaked against the blackboard, equations scrawled out neatly, but none of it stuck. His mind was elsewhere.

‘So her powers are inside him… unstable, dangerous. And his balls—’ he exhaled quietly through his nose, brows furrowing,

‘—those gold spheres wrapped in spirit membranes. Where in the world are they now? If some spirit or yokai got their hands on them, they’d gain direct access to Turbo Granny’s cursed energy. That kind of power in the wrong hands would spread disaster fast.’

He tapped his pen against the desk, thinking darker.

‘But what if… a normal human found one? Someone without resistance, without awareness. What would happen then? Would the membrane infect them? Twist them? Or worse, would they just… dissolve under its weight?’

The thought tightened in his chest. Too many unknowns. Too many dangers.

The bell rang sharply, snapping him out of his reverie. Students groaned with relief, some stretching, others springing up from their seats.

The once orderly rows broke into clusters—friends pushing desks together, laughter bubbling, conversations crisscrossing the room.

Emiya stayed where he was, unmoving. He didn’t really belong in any of those groups. His gaze wandered absently over the chatter until a sharp voice caught his ear.

“Did you hear? About Ayase?” a girl whispered, not quietly enough.

“Oh, yeah. Word is she’ll give it up to any guy who asks,” another snickered.

He didn’t catch the rest. His focus sharpened, instincts already whispering about stepping in, about cutting such filth at the root.

“No way, seriously?” A third chimed in, laughing. “Figures, she acts all tough, but she’s that type, huh?”

The words cut through the air, bitter and ugly. Emiya’s jaw tightened. His hand curled slightly on the desk, nails biting against his palm.

‘Momo?’

But before he could listen further—

Rustle… Rustle…

Something shifted at his feet. His attention darted down just in time to see his backpack twitching faintly.

At first, he thought it was just a loose paper shifting in his bag. But then came a muffled snicker. His brow furrowed.

Slowly, carefully, Emiya reached down, unzipped the top of his backpack just enough to peer inside.

Two round, glowing eyes blinked up at him from inside.

“Well, well!” Turbo Granny’s raspy voice wheezed out, far too loud for comfort. “I haven’t set foot in a school for centuries!”

Emiya froze. For the first time since the morning started, the corner of his eye twitched. “…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Turbo Granny’s tiny catlike head poked out of the bag, swiveling about with curiosity.

“Oooh, look at all these brats! Same stink, different noise—it’s exactly like back then!” She sniffed the air dramatically. “Ahhh, the smell of youth. Takes me back.”

Emiya clenched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath, “Of all the places to follow me…”

A few students nearby laughed at something unrelated, masking the sudden twitch in Emiya’s jaw. He tugged the zipper back down quickly, shutting the hag back inside before anyone else could notice.

His temple throbbed. Of course she’d stowed away in his bag. Of course she’d pick now to amuse herself.

But the voices of the rumor-spreading students still floated nearby, mixing with Turbo Granny’s chatter, and his mood darkened further.

The rustling in his backpack didn’t stop. If anything, it grew louder. Emiya pressed his palm firmly against the top, trying to keep it shut, but Turbo Granny’s muffled voice began to seep out like steam from a cracked kettle.

“Ahh! The smell of sweat! Hormones! Puberty in full bloom!” she cackled, her voice high and shrill, far too loud to be mistaken for his imagination.

“Ohhh, the days of youth! I could just eat it up!”

A few heads turned immediately. The boy in front of him paused mid-conversation, shooting Emiya a puzzled look.

Another student leaned over and whispered, “Oi, what was that??”

“Ehh? I thought I heard something…” More eyes started to swivel toward him.

Emiya’s jaw clenched so hard it was a wonder his teeth didn’t crack. He pressed down harder, muttering through gritted teeth, “Shut up.”

But Turbo Granny only grew louder, delighting in his misery. “Ahhh, so many young maidens ripe for—”

He slammed the zipper closed with a violent tug, but it was too late. Half the class was staring now, some wide-eyed, some snickering.

“Emiya-san… did you.. just say something?” a girl asked cautiously.

The corner of Emiya’s eye twitched. He felt like a bomb about to detonate—not with rage, but with sheer embarrassment.

He shot up from his seat without a word, his chair screeching against the floor. Slinging the backpack over his shoulder with a little too much force, he strode out of the classroom.

The chatter erupted behind him, a storm of confused whispers.

“Did you hear it?!”

“I swear I heard a cat’s voice!”

He ignored it all, moving with brisk, clipped steps until the noise faded behind him. The empty hallway was blessedly silent.

Dusty light pooled from the tall windows, casting shadows against the worn linoleum floor.

He walked farther until he found a corner tucked away behind an unused supply cabinet. No footsteps, no voices—just the hum of the building.

Only then did he yank the bag open.

Turbo Granny immediately popped out, her cat figurine half-floating from the pack. Her kitty-cat face was split in a wide, gleeful grin, her catlike eyes narrowing with mischief.

Emiya grabbed her by the scruff of her porcelain neck, holding her in place. His patience was a frayed wire.

“Why,” he said slowly, dangerously calm, “are you out of the house?”

She blinked at him innocently, though her grin never faltered. “Why? Because the Seiko-lady said, ‘let the cat be free.’ That’s what she told me! So here I am!”

Emiya’s grip tightened. “And that’s it? She just let you wander off?”

Turbo Granny snorted, wriggling uselessly in his hand. “What’s the matter? I can’t do a thing anymore, remember? No claws, no fangs, no curse. I’m just an old hag tagging along for the ride! She said, ‘since you’re useless now, might as well let you stretch your legs.’”

Emiya narrowed his eyes, studying her. Even without her old powers, she was still a trickster spirit to the bone.

And Seiko… of course she’d think nothing of letting something like Turbo Granny out, so long as it amused her.

Turbo Granny wriggled again, craning her neck toward him. “Oi, boy—don’t look at me like that. You’re making me feel like contraband!”

“You are contraband,” Emiya muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

Emiya just sighed, leaning back against the wall, still holding her firmly so she wouldn’t slip away. His mind ticked restlessly, circling the same problems as before, but now with an added nuisance hovering in his hand.

Turbo Granny’s grin slowly faded, her little catlike head tilting as if she had just heard something far away.

“You know, boy,” she said suddenly, her tone losing some of its usual mocking edge, “you’ve got a bigger problem on your hands than me sneakin’ into school.”

Emiya’s brows arched slightly, but he didn’t let go of her. “…Go on.”

She glanced around the empty hallway as if checking for eavesdroppers, then fixed her glowing eyes on him. “That nerdy kid—the one with my powers stuffed inside him like a turkey? He ain’t built to carry it. Not for long.”

Emiya’s grip slackened just a little. “…What do you mean?”

Turbo Granny rolled her little porcelain shoulders, her tail twitching. “What do I mean? I mean there’s no way a scrawny, hormone-rattled brat like that can handle a curse as nasty as mine.”

His frown deepened. “…Then what happens to him?”

She grinned again, but this time it was sharp and humorless. “Do you really think that kid can control my powers? Surely, you can imagine it yourself, boy. Someone like you who has that kind of powers must have its drawbacks.”

Emiya’s hand tightened involuntarily around her neck. The idea of Okarun becoming a vessel for something even worse than Turbo Granny made his chest tighten unpleasantly.

But before he could speak, Turbo Granny suddenly froze in his hand, her eyes going wide. Her little ceramic body trembled faintly, as if some unseen current had just passed through her.

“…Oh,” she whispered.

Emiya’s eyes narrowed. “…What?”

Then he felt it too. A pulse of energy, faint but unmistakable, thrummed through the air like a plucked string.

It came from somewhere outside, but close—so close that the fine hairs on the back of his neck prickled.

Turbo Granny’s grin widened slowly, almost feral now. “Well, I’ll be damned. The brat’s waking me up.”

Emiya straightened from the wall, every nerve suddenly alert. “…He’s what?”

“You felt it, didn’t you?” she hissed, almost gleeful now. “That’s my power stirring inside him. Is it just a hiccup, or perhaps the real thing coming? Hoo-hoo, this is gonna be good.”

Emiya’s jaw set as the energy pulsed again, a little stronger this time.

It wasn’t enough to shake the building or trigger alarms, but it was raw, unsteady, and it carried that faint, sour tang of Turbo Granny’s curse.

He didn’t wait for her to finish her gloating. He stuffed her back into the bag with one swift motion and slung it over his shoulder, his strides already taking him back toward the nearest exit.

Emiya’s steps thundered down the corridor, the old linoleum floor groaning under his pace.

The bag over his shoulder jostled violently, but he didn’t care — if anything, the weight of Turbo Granny inside it reminded him just how serious this was.

The pulses of cursed energy were no longer subtle. They were coming faster, each one leaving a sharp static buzz in the air that scraped against his senses.

‘Damn it, he’s losing it already!’

He skidded around the last corner and arrived outside Okarun’s classroom just in time to hear the low murmur of tension inside.

The first thing he caught was the voice — some smug boy snickering, saying just loud enough for the whole room to hear:

“Ayase… She’ll give it to anyone—”

The words cut off with a strangled yelp.

Emiya pushed the door open sharply and stepped inside — and immediately saw why.

Okarun was no longer the shy, nerdy kid. His black hair had turned ghostly white, glowing faintly, and his eyes were sharp, almost feral.

His body radiated cursed energy like a barely contained furnace.

He had one fist wrapped tight around the collar of the offending boy, lifting him clear off the ground with one hand as if he weighed nothing.

The classroom was dead silent. No one dared move. Several students pressed themselves against the far wall, too terrified to breathe too loudly.

“Who,” Okarun said, his voice low and thrumming with that unnatural resonance, “spread that rumor about Momo?”

The boy’s face was turning red, his legs kicking weakly. “I-I-I don’t know! It wasn’t me—!”

“You see, Momo-chan isn’t that kind of girl,” Okarun hissed, his grip tightening. The cursed energy flared with his anger, rattling windows and flickering the overhead lights.

“Best not repeat those kind of lies.”

Emiya didn’t hesitate.

In three long strides he crossed the room, his hand snapping up to seize Okarun’s wrist. The cursed energy bit at his skin like hot wires, but he didn’t flinch.

“That’s enough.” His voice was flat, commanding — the kind of tone that could cut through noise like a blade.

Okarun’s wild, glowing eyes snapped toward him. For a moment, it looked like he might lash out, but then his grip faltered just slightly.

“Put him down,” Emiya said, not loosening his own grip. “Now.”

For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then, almost reluctantly, Okarun’s glow dimmed, his hair shifting back to its normal dark color.

The oppressive pressure in the room thinned, letting everyone breathe again.

Okarun’s breathing was ragged, his chest heaving, but after a tense second he slowly lowered the boy to the ground.

The kid scrambled away like a kicked puppy stammering and tripping over a chair.

“I... I’m so sorry!” Okarun immediately apologized to the guy who was still coughing after being pulled up by him.

The cursed energy around Okarun no longer flared, though — unsteady, dangerous, like a fire that had been smothered.

Emiya’s gaze didn’t waver. “I need to talk with you. Go outside.”

But the silence didn’t break. Every eye in the classroom was fixed on the two of them.

No one dared to argue.

He grabbed Okarun by the shoulder and practically dragged him toward the hallway.

As they stepped out of the classroom, the noise finally erupted behind them — panicked chatter, some students laughing nervously, others whispering frantically about what they’d just seen.

Turbo Granny’s muffled voice rose from the bag at his side.

“Ohoho! Now that’s what I’m talking about!” she cackled gleefully. “The brat’s finally got some teeth!”

Emiya’s jaw tightened.

“Shut up,” he hissed under his breath, hauling Okarun further down the hall toward the nearest exit before anything else could explode.

Outside, the sunlight felt almost blinding after the tense, darkened classroom. Okarun shook his arm free but didn’t run — his expression was still tight, still on edge.

“She didn’t deserve that,” he muttered, his voice still carrying a faint echo of that cursed resonance.

Emiya stared at him for a long moment, then crossed his arms. “And what, you think strangling a classmate in front of twenty witnesses was the right move?”

Okarun didn’t answer. His fists clenched instead.

And in the bag, Turbo Granny just chuckled darkly. “Hoo-boy… this is just the beginning.”

Okarun’s shoulders were still tight, his breathing still uneven. His gaze flicked toward Emiya’s bag when Turbo Granny cackled again, this time louder, clearly enjoying the situation.

“…What is that?” Okarun finally asked, narrowing his eyes. “I’ve been hearing it since we left the class. What’s in there?”

Emiya didn’t even hesitate. He knelt down, yanked the zipper open, and held the bag toward him.

Turbo Granny’s little catlike head popped out, her porcelain face twisted in a scowl.

“About damn time, boy! You been jostlin’ me like a sack of rice this whole time!” she snapped, her little tail flicking irritably.

“Do you know how humiliating it is to be crammed in there like—like—!”

“Quiet.” Emiya’s voice cut like a blade, and she flinched — just slightly — before huffing and crossing her tiny arms.

Okarun blinked once, then twice. “Wait. Why is she here!?”

Okarun took a step back, visibly unsettled by her appearing at school— but Emiya didn’t let the moment spiral.

“Forget her.” His tone was flat, all business.

He zipped the bag halfway closed again so Turbo Granny could only glare at them both like a furious jack-in-the-box. Then his amber eyes snapped back to Okarun.

“You need to start controlling your powers — and your emotions — right now. What you just pulled back there? You were one pulse away from seriously hurting someone, maybe worse.”

Okarun’s jaw tightened. “He was talking about Ayase-san,” he said, his voice sharp.

“Spreading disgusting rumors like that, right to my face. You expect me to just sit there and let them—”

“Yes.”

Emiya’s answer was immediate, cutting him off.

Okarun blinked. “What?”

“Yes,” Emiya repeated. His tone wasn’t angry, but it was like steel — unyielding.

“You sit there, and you endure it. You don’t lash out, you don’t grab anyone by the throat, and you don’t put the entire school at risk just because you can’t handle being angry.”

Okarun’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “You don’t get it. Ayase-san—”

“I get it just fine,” Emiya snapped, finally letting a sliver of heat into his voice.

“But if you keep letting that rage decide what you do, you’re going to become the very thing you’re afraid of. You think Momo would be happy seeing you like that? Scaring everyone out of their wits?”

Okarun faltered. The cursed energy that still clung to him like smoke wavered, softening just slightly.

From inside the bag, Turbo Granny snickered. “Oooh, now this is juicy. Look at you, lecturin’ the brat like some kinda school counselor. You should give him a gold star for effort!”

Emiya ignored her entirely, his gaze still locked on Okarun.

“You’ve got two choices. You either learn to master this power and keep it from taking over, or next time I won’t just grab your wrist. I’ll cut the problem out at the root. Understand?”

Okarun stiffened at the cold edge in those words — but he didn’t argue. Not this time.

“…Fine,” he muttered, finally unclenching his fists. “I’ll try. But I can’t just let people talk about her like that.”

Emiya’s expression softened just slightly, though it was still serious. “Then prove them wrong with your actions. Not with a public meltdown.”

Turbo Granny made an exaggerated gagging noise from the bag. “Ugh, so noble. So preachy. You two should just hug it out and braid each other’s hair already.”

Both boys turned to glare at the bag at the exact same time.

“What?” Turbo Granny said innocently, batting her little porcelain lashes. “I’m just sayin’—”

Emiya zipped the bag shut in one motion, cutting her off mid-sentence.

He let out a sharp exhale and, without ceremony, let the bag drop to the pavement with a heavy thud.

The zipper quivered like Turbo Granny was about to say something snarky, but even she seemed to sense now was not the time and kept quiet.

Emiya pressed two fingers to his temple, trying to massage away the dull ache forming there.

“Great. Just great,” he muttered to himself.

“Yesterday it’s Momo throwing a washbasin at some girl out in the open. Today it’s you—” he jabbed a finger at Okarun “—almost turning into a walking reactor of curse in front of half your class.”

Okarun winced but didn’t argue. The adrenaline had faded enough for the weight of what just happened to sink in, leaving him staring down at his shoes, shoulders hunched.

Emiya tilted his head back toward the sky and sighed through his nose.

‘At this rate, the whole damn school is going to be wrapped in a curtain of curses by the end of the week.’

He was about to launch into another lecture when a cheerful voice cut through the air.

“Eh? What are you two doing out here?”

Both boys froze.

Momo was standing a few meters away, her schoolbag slung over one shoulder, hair catching the sunlight like a halo.

She tilted her head, curious, her big expressive eyes flicking from Okarun’s tense posture to Emiya’s pinched expression, and then down to the suspiciously wriggling bag on the ground.

Okarun nearly jumped out of his shoes.

“A-Ayase-san! It’s, uh—it’s nothing! I just—” His voice cracked halfway through, and he immediately looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

Before he could dig himself deeper, Emiya cut in smoothly, arms folding across his chest.

“Your boyfriend over here,” he said dryly, jerking his chin at Okarun, “lost control of his emotions and let his powers loose on some idiot who was talking bad about you.”

Momo’s eyes widened, and a faint pink dusted her cheeks. “W-Wait, he… did what????”

Okarun’s face went bright red. “I-It’s not— I just—!”

Emiya raised a brow. “You want me to explain it slower?”

“NO!” Okarun blurted, waving his hands wildly, as though that would somehow erase the words from the air.

Momo bit her lip to hold back a smile, the blush deepening. She stepped closer, her usual teasing edge softened by a little warmth in her tone.

“You really did that… for me?”

Okarun’s ears went scarlet. He nodded stiffly, clearly wishing for death. “I—I didn’t like hearing them say that stuff about you.”

For a moment, the air went quiet — heavy with teenage awkwardness.

Emiya felt like his headache just became worse.

‘He almost let out Turbo Granny’s powers in his classroom and Momo can only focus on the fact that her man was sticking up for her… oh for fuck’s sake.’

Emiya pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his composure from completely snapping.

“Alright. Both of you.” His voice came out sharp, the edge of a blade barely sheathed.

“No more of this. I don’t care what some idiot said in the hallway, I don’t care what beef you think you need to settle—stop using your powers like you’re in a shounen manga! This is a school. There are normal people here!”

Momo pouted, rolling her eyes with all the grace of a teenager who’d just been told to clean her room.

“You’re so naggy, Unc,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “You sound just like Grandma, word for word.”

Emiya’s eye twitched.

“I’m not being ‘naggy.’ I’m telling you that the more you two keep putting cursed energy and psychic hands out in the open, the more attention you’re going to attract!”

That sobered Okarun for about three seconds — before he suddenly frowned and pointed at Emiya’s side.

“Uh… Emiya-san. Why is your bag open?”

Emiya’s head whipped down toward the bag.

Sure enough, the zipper that had been half-shut was now completely open. The inside was very empty.

His stomach dropped.

Momo blinked. “...What’s wrong with his bag—”

“Stay here!” Emiya growled, already snatching the bag off the ground and spinning toward the nearest corner of the school building.

“She’s gone, isn’t she?” Okarun asked, his voice climbing a little.

“Of course she’s gone!” Emiya snapped over his shoulder. “Because clearly today wasn’t already a big enough disaster!”

Somewhere in the distance, like the world itself wanted to mock him, a faint cackling echoed — Turbo Granny’s unmistakable, raspy laugh.

“OOOH-HOHOHO! FREE AT LAST!! FREE AT LAST!!”

Momo and Okarun just stared at each other for a beat, Okarun pale as a sheet.

“...Is it bad that I suddenly feel like we’re all doomed?” he asked.

Emiya just dragged a hand down his face.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”