JJK: Red Priest Pathway

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After exchanging a few more words with Mei, we parted ways, each going in our own direction. She didn't show any interest in what had happened inside the sorcerer headquarters, just as I refrained from asking about her plans. There was a silent understanding between us, saying more than words ever could. A mature realization that not all secrets need to be shared, and some questions are better left unanswered. It only strengthened our strange sense of closeness. At least, I hoped Mei understood, just as I did, that this wasn't the end of our relationship. I still respected and admired her and didn't want things to end in misunderstanding.

Speeding along on my "Highway Fighter" toward Tokyo, I was surprised to find an incredible sense of calm within me. Just half an hour ago, my mind had been restless, consumed by endless thoughts, but now, as the wind relentlessly whipped across my face, those worries disappeared with it. The wind seemed to carry away every trace of anxiety, leaving nothing but clarity and peace. One of the smaller, but much appreciated, perks of my enhanced physique was that I could ride a motorcycle without any protective gear, especially without a helmet. This allowed me to savor every second of the ride: the freedom to feel every gust of wind, hear every sound of the road, and sense every vibration from the powerful engine. Without barriers, it felt like the world around me had drawn closer and brighter, each detail of the city skyline sharper, filling my perception with vivid energy.

In that relatively short yet rich moment, as the cool evening breeze tore through the silence and played in my hair, I felt a profound sense of tranquility. It was as if the world, with all its chaos and constant movement, had been left far behind, and all that remained was the road, the reflected glow of streetlights and stars in my eyes. It was a pure pleasure, one that's hard to put into words but easy to feel: complete freedom in motion, where nothing holds you back except your own desires.

It's funny, really. Despite having the ability to fly at speeds exceeding Mach levels and move on foot faster than the speed of sound, I still found joy in these "meager" two hundred kilometers per hour. On a motorcycle, everything felt different — there was no blinding pressure of air or dizzying heights. Here, every moment was filled with the wind, every rush of air, every surge of the engine. It was a pure, earthly freedom — the kind that lets you feel human, not a supernatural being, just a person soaring down the highway.

Even though I was still far from cursed spirit zones, cars occasionally passed by me. Their headlights flashed at the edge of my vision, like lightning splitting the night's darkness. These brief flashes added a special dynamism to the feeling of movement. Yet, something had changed in the atmosphere. Even here, far from the "red zones," there was an emptiness that radiated from the heart of Tokyo. Streets that normally buzzed with life and the noise of the city were now almost deserted. Only the lonely streetlights illuminated the road, creating an eerie sense of isolation, as if the whole world had frozen in anticipation of something inevitable.

I abruptly accelerated, feeling the "Highway Fighter" come to life beneath me. The roar of the engine merged with the wind, which tugged at my jacket, whipped through my hair, and filled the space around me with a palpable tension. It was an absolute union with the road, pure bliss in the moment — until something shifted.

My senses, honed to a superhuman level, suddenly registered someone's attention. It wasn't aggressive or threatening — more neutral, really — but it was enough to make me tense up. The feeling was like a light breeze on the back of my neck — almost imperceptible, but irritating, as if someone was watching me intently. Not invading my space, but not letting go either. A thought flickered through my mind:

"Someone's come for revenge… or maybe to deliver justice?"

But no, it didn't feel like that. There wasn't a trace of hostility in that distant gaze. And that only confused me more.

I barely had time to process the sensation when my pocket vibrated, disrupting the rhythm of the road. My phone. I eased off the throttle, and the night world around me slowed down, like someone had switched the movie to a slower frame rate. The headlights of the rare passing cars reflected off the wet asphalt, creating shimmering trails that stretched into the horizon.

I reached into my pocket, pulling out the phone. The screen glowed softly, casting a faint light on my fingers.

"Unknown number."

A typical, mundane call. But at that moment, with the wind howling and that ever-present gaze lingering on me, it felt ominous, like something straight out of a cliche spy thriller.

"Is this it?" The thought flashed through my mind. "The moment when the mysterious figure lurking in the shadows finally makes their move?"

My internal monologue teetered between irony and reality. Vivid scenes flickered in my imagination: any second now, the voice on the other end would instruct me to look at the nearest security camera, which would immediately begin tracking my every move. They'd tell me they knew who I was, knew what I'd done. And then they'd invite me to a nondescript diner full of bland, forgettable people with equally forgettable lives, who would, of course, turn out to be agents from some covert department.

"Is this a proposition?" I'd ask, my tone slightly mocking.

"No, it's a recommendation," would come the cold reply.

And then I'd step into that diner, its muted, warm lights enveloping me, surrounded by a group of ordinary-looking patrons, secretly armed to the teeth, like they were gearing up to hunt a dinosaur. CIA? MI6? Or perhaps something even more clandestine, so secretive it didn't even have a name

These thoughts amused me as I stared at the phone screen, but my heart started to beat to a different rhythm. All of this could very well be reality — in a world where magic and curses intertwined with everyday life, such a scenario wasn't entirely impossible. Besides, I knew for a fact that in the not-too-distant future — one I had probably already altered with my actions — "diplomatic teams" would show up in Tokyo. A euphemism for something far more ordinary and human — a group of armed individuals with no obvious national affiliation but undoubtedly working for a major power. Their real goal? Not negotiations, as one might guess, but the capture of sorcerers for research into magic and cursed energy.

"I hope it's a mysterious, deep male voice — a secret agent with a license to kill," I muttered with a smirk, answering the call.

Reality, however, shattered my expectations. On the other end, a young female voice with a sharp Japanese accent snapped at me:

"Are you an idiot or what?"

I froze, raising my eyebrows slightly. I knew that voice. The question was — where from?

As if that wasn't enough, another female voice quickly interrupted, softer but with the same note of irritation:

"Hey, don't be so rude!"

That seemed to only anger the first girl further. Her reply came with clear frustration:

"I don't care," she spat, her careless tone grating on my ears. After a short pause, her voice returned. "There's an abandoned building between "Maenohara Onsen" and the children's zoo. Meet us there."

The call ended as abruptly as it began. I stood there, staring at the darkened phone screen, the corners of my mouth twitching in confusion.

"There are so many abandoned buildings in Tokyo these days…" I muttered under my breath.

But before I could even start thinking about which building she meant, the phone vibrated again in my hand. I answered, and the same irritated voice burst into my ear:

"The old office building — they were going to build a hospital there."

And just like that, without a second for me to respond, the call ended again.

I shook my head and sighed, exhaustion creeping into my voice.

"What an ill-mannered young lady…"

The question wasn't whether "I was going to go". Of course, I was! This was literally straight out of every thriller — a meeting in an abandoned building with a secret informant or a potential enemy. How could I refuse something like that? The real question was — should I bring the biggest gun I've got? After all, I wasn't exactly in peak condition right now. Perhaps I should give Maki and Mechamaru a heads-up.

I barely suppressed a laugh at the absurdity of it all, glancing at the city's night lights as I slowly turned toward the northern district.

"As for Shoko's orders for bed rest…" I muttered, turning the handlebars and steering the bike in the right direction. "Well, what can I say? I've already been out for a 'run' today. Might as well get a little workout in."

With that, I pressed down on the throttle, feeling the motorcycle lurch forward.