As the smoldering destruction of Gojo's Maximum Output: Blue came to an end, two figures on a crane sat, watching. They were on the outer docks of the Mochi-chi Dock, and the moon hung in the air as dust settled in the concrete warehouse. Below was the microscopic view of Yokohama, neon lights sparkling like glitter.
"Tch, who's that white-haired kid? He destroyed all my paintings in one go. My gallery for May is going to be empty because of that fucking brat!"
"Now now, Araya, no need to get so disheartened. Hm, my [Structure] got dismantled as soon as he used that blue orb Record of his."
Araya hugged her knees, face in her lap. "That's bullshit. Aikawa, I thought your Record worked by making any space inescapable and indestructible?"
Aikawa chuckled, spinning on a steel wire. "Well, since the 'door' I chose for the exits was one of your paintings, the moment it got sucked in, the inside of it became all normal, so... the inside got all boomed! Man, I'm bummed out too now, this is boring!"
Araya looked up and snorted. "Shut up. I lost half my stock cause' of your stupid games. We were meant to delay them until Turbulence was ready to go. Ah, damn, Sasayama's going to be pissed." Aikawa stopped, hanging off the crane by a single step. "I thought you hated Iron Turbids?"
Aray looked down, her black hair glistening under the moonlight. "He's a dumbass, I know, but he's my only chance of getting away from Yan Qing."
Aikawa spun once and hopped over to Araya, leaning down, finger to her chin. "Oh my, you're still scared of that ghost? How tragic, getting caught in an act of oh so immense cruelty!"
"Get the fuck away from me before I shoot your brains out!"
Aikawa chuckled and turned, her hands behind her back. She looked at the moon, waxing, a smile reaching her ears. "You wouldn't dare? I know you're a coward, I know you didn't kill anyone else after her."
Araya clutched a gun from her coat, her grip on the pistol trembling. "Tch, you don't know jackshit."
"Heh, a coward through and through." Aikawa glanced behind her, hair fluttering in the cold night wind.
A sudden thump echoed throughout the crane. Aikawa and Araya looked at the end of the crane. A figure had appeared, hood down. "Shingetsu, what're you doing here?"
Shingetsu walked to Araya, the crane creaking under his steps. He walked past Aikawa, sparing her no glance. "Just a quick heads up, Yan Qing's basically done with his business over in China. I'd recommend you to prepare at least something of value to appease him."
The crane fell silent. Araya's grip on the pistol tightened, her knuckles white. Beside her, Aikawa's ever-present smile had thinned into something more keen.
Shingetsu stopped a few feet from Araya, hands in his pockets, his short, cropped hair tussling with the breeze.
"China," Araya repeated, her voice flat. "He's done with his own exile?"
"Wrapped up his business last week. Says he'll stay there for a few more weeks to relax. He'll come back in May with all the retainers he brought."
Araya stood up, her hands gripping the yellow-painted metal. "Hey, isn't that in a month!? What the hell am I supposed to do in a month!?"
Shingetsu took out a photo from his courier bag, holding it in front of his face. "Beats me. I only came here to tell you that. Thank Yohan at least, since he's the only man who's got ears on Yan Qing."
Just as he said that, he vanished, leaving behind the photograph, now burning.
The photograph curled at the edges, flames licking up the corners, consuming whatever image had been printed there. Within seconds, it was ash, scattered by the wind across the crane platform.
Araya stared at the empty space where Shingetsu had stood. Then she kicked the nearest railing.
"Fuck!"
The metal rattled. Araya kicked it again, harder.
Araya turned to Aikawa, her face crossed with something between frustration and dread. The smile she received in return was subtle.
"Don't look at me like that," Araya spat. "You're not getting dragged into this. Yan Qing doesn't even know you exist."
"Mm, and I'd like to keep it that way." Aikawa stretched, her joints popping softly in the night air. "Which is why I'm going to politely decline whatever favor you're about to ask me."
"You haven't even heard it yet."
"Don't need to." Aikawa brushed past Araya, her shoulder barely grazing the other woman's arm. She stopped at the ladder, one hand resting casually on the railing, and glanced back with that same thin smile. "Good luck with that, I guess!"
Araya watched her go, her eyes drifting to the Turbulence, its engines roaring. "Coward?" she muttered. "Yeah, maybe."
Then something prickled at the back of her neck.
Wait. Who's that?
She looked down.
A figure stood amidst the wreckage of the warehouse entrance, white hair catching the dim dock lights, dark sunglasses hiding his eyes. But even from four stories up, Araya could feel those eyes on her. Unblinking.
A cold shiver crawled up her spine.
He's been watching this whole time? Tch.
Araya jumped off the crane platform without hesitation, boots kicking off the railing. In one fluid motion, she reached behind her back and pulled. A flash of crimson unfurled like a blooming flower.
Her red wagasa umbrella snapped open.
The wind caught its paper canopy instantly, slowing her fall into a graceful drift. She descended through the layers of the wall district, past catwalks and cargo nets, past flickering neon signs and rusted ventilation shafts, spiraling down like a maple leaf in autumn.
And as she descended, she passed right by him.
Gojo Satoru tilted his head up, tracking her movement. Their eyes met, hers wide for just a moment, his gleaming faintly behind tinted lenses. Cold blue against startled red.
Araya's grip on the umbrella tightened.