Night hung low over the ocean, heavy and moonlit, the water breathing in long, slow swells.
A small figure drifted between them.
Unmoving and silent.
Face half-submerged, body limp, clothes soaked through with salt and cold.
Any ordinary child should have sunk by now.
Any ordinary child should have died long before reaching this far.
But Uzumaki Oden was still there, floating in the dark like something the sea itself had refused to claim.
And then—
A presence stepped onto the shore.
Miguel had only come down toward the water to clear his head.
That was all.
Ever since leaving Japan for a while, he had found Kenya easier to breathe in. Easier to think in. Far away from the constant noise, far away from the suffocating tension that clung to certain parts of the jujutsu world.
He had wanted distance.
Peace.
Instead—
He found a child washed in cursed energy so dense it made the air itself feel heavier.
Miguel stopped dead.
His eyes narrowed.
"…What?"
The boy had not even reached the shore yet, but the cursed energy spilling off him was already obvious. No, obvious was too weak a word.
It was absurd.
Miguel had sensed powerful sorcerers before. Monsters wearing human skin. People whose very existence distorted a room.
This child—
This unconscious, half-drowned little boy—
had cursed energy that felt wrong in its sheer quantity.
Just… enormous.
Miguel stared at him for a long moment, genuinely stunned.
"What the hell did I just find?"
He stepped into the water without hesitation, grabbed the boy by the arm and shoulder, and hauled him toward shore.
The child was light.
Too light for the pressure his presence carried.
Miguel crouched beside him and placed two fingers near the boy's neck.
Pulse.
Strong.
He clicked his tongue.
"…Ridiculous."
His gaze lingered on the child's face.
Young. Very young. Six, maybe. Japanese, from the looks of him.
And drenched in enough cursed energy to make grown sorcerers lose sleep.
Slowly, a grin spread across Miguel's face.
"Well," he muttered, "leaving Japan really was a good decision."
Because if he had stayed—
He never would have come across this boy.
He glanced down at the unconscious child one more time, then sighed.
"Alright, kid," he said. "Looks like you're coming with me."
And with that, Miguel lifted Oden into his arms and began carrying him back toward his village.
---
Oden woke to warmth.
Not the cold sting of ocean water.
Not the ache of hard wood beneath his back.
Warmth.
Soft fabric. A dim room. A ceiling he did not recognize.
His eyes opened slowly.
He blinked once.
Twice.
Then pushed himself upright with visible confusion.
"…Where am I?"
His voice came out hoarse.
A chair scraped lightly nearby.
"You're awake."
Oden turned.
A dark-skinned man sat a short distance away, relaxed but observant, watching him closely.
Oden stiffened immediately.
"Who are you?" he asked.
The man leaned back slightly.
"My name's Miguel," he said. "More importantly, you're in Kenya."
Oden froze.
"…Kenya?"
Miguel nodded once.
"That's right."
Oden stared at him blankly.
There was a pause.
Then Miguel spoke again.
"So," he said, "who are you? And where exactly are you coming from?"
Oden hesitated.
His fingers curled slightly into the blanket covering him.
Then, quietly—
"My name is Oden."
Miguel waited.
Oden looked down.
"I ran away," he said. "From my family in Canada."
Miguel raised a brow, but said nothing.
So Oden continued.
Haltingly at first.
Then more clearly.
He explained how things had been at home. How he was different. How people feared him. How Tyrone died. How he believed it was his fault. How he overheard the argument. How he came to the conclusion that staying would only make things harder for Jonathan.
By the time he finished, the room was quiet again.
Miguel was silent for a moment.
Then he exhaled through his nose.
"…I see."
Oden glanced up at him uncertainly.
Miguel folded his arms.
"Everything you just described," he said, "is probably because of your cursed technique."
Oden blinked.
"My what?"
"And your cursed energy," Miguel added. "That too. The amount you have is ridiculous."
Oden only looked more confused.
Miguel stared at him for a second.
Then shook his head.
"…Wow. You really are clueless."
Oden frowned faintly.
Miguel stood up.
"Alright," he said. "I'll explain everything to you. Since it's painfully obvious no one's ever told you anything."
He took a few steps toward the other side of the room.
"But first," he added, "you need to eat."
Oden sat there, still trying to process the fact that he was apparently in Kenya, talking to a stranger who knew things about him that he himself didn't understand.
Miguel began preparing food with casual efficiency.
Oden watched him in silence.
A while later, Miguel returned and set a plate down in front of him.
Oden stared at it.
He didn't recognize it.
His brows furrowed.
"…What is this?"
Miguel glanced at the plate, then back at him.
"A traditional Kenyan dish," he said. "Try it."
Oden hesitated.
He looked down again, clearly suspicious.
Miguel snorted.
"It's food, not poison."
That did little to change Oden's expression.
Still, after a few seconds, he picked up a bite and cautiously tasted it.
He paused.
Then blinked.
Then took another bite.
Miguel noticed immediately.
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Well?" he asked.
Oden swallowed.
"…It's good."
Miguel chuckled.
"I know."
Oden took another bite.
Then another.
Then his pace increased.
Miguel's smile widened.
"Eat more," he said. "There's plenty where that came from."
Oden, now fully invested, nodded and continued eating.
One plate became two.
Two became three.
Miguel's expression began to change around plate four.
By plate five, he was staring.
By plate six—
he was sweating.
Oden kept eating with the same flat expression he always had, only occasionally pausing to swallow before continuing like a machine.
Miguel slowly lowered his cup.
'…Just how much does this kid eat?'
He looked at the empty plates.
Then at Oden.
Then back at the empty plates.
His eye twitched.
This was not normal.
The cursed energy was monstrous.
And now the appetite was inhuman too.
Miguel leaned back and wiped his forehead.
"…Yeah," he muttered to himself. "I definitely found something crazy."
Across from him, Oden finished the last bite on the sixth plate and looked up.
"…Is there more?"
Miguel went completely still.
Then he forced a smile.
"…There is."
But internally—
He was already mourning his food supply.