CHAPTER 19: WHAT GOOD ARE THEY?

The vending machine hummed softly in the corner of the Jujutsu High courtyard. A quiet blue glow surrounded its display window, rows of canned coffee and fizzy soda lined up behind the glass.

Geto Suguru stood before it, alone.

He inserted a coin. The familiar clink echoed in the night air.

The machine whirred. He didn't choose anything.

Not yet.

His fingers hovered over the buttons, but his mind was far away.

There were no curses.

No battles.

No orders.

Just silence.

And questions.

"...What's the point?" he murmured to no one but himself.

His reflection in the machine's glass stared back at him.

"Why are we protecting them?"

He leaned against the side of the vending machine, the cold steel pressing against his bruised ribs. His voice was bitter, hushed.

"They clapped. When she died. They celebrated."

A can of black coffee dropped suddenly. He hadn't even pressed a button.

He picked it up absently, staring at the label as if it held some ancient truth.

"Gojo… he still thinks it's worth it. To keep saving them."

A pause.

"But why?"

He cracked the can open. Steam lifted off the rim into the cold night.

"They hate us. They fear us. They cheer when we suffer. And yet… we bleed for them."

He took a sip.

It was bitter.

"I used to think this power was sacred. That it was our duty."

A sigh. "But now…"

His eyes darkened, deep thoughts stirring beneath them.

"…maybe I'm the one who's wrong."

A rustle of wind passed through the trees behind him.

Geto glanced up toward the stars above.

"Or maybe—just maybe—they don't deserve us."

He tossed the empty can into the trash with a soft clang.

Then he turned his back to the light of the vending machine and disappeared into the shadows of the corridor.

Alone.

Carrying a seed of doubt that would never quite go away.