Keitaro barely managed to teleport away before Hollow Purple obliterated the goalpost behind him, leaving a smoking crater where the net used to be. The sheer force of the blast sent shockwaves through the field, and somewhere in the distance, a flock of birds took off in terror.
Keitaro slowly turned back to Satoru, who was still midair, grinning like a lunatic.
"...Are you fucking serious?" Keitaro deadpanned. What the fuck kind of attack was this? A Hollow Purple-imbued kick? What was this guy on?
Satoru floated down, stretching his arms. "What? It was a warm-up."
This was a warm-up.
A warm-up for what exactly?
"A warm-up for what? The apocalypse?"
Satoru shrugged. "Gotta keep my reflexes sharp. You survived, didn't you?"
...Was he trying to kill him?
Keitaro sighed, rubbing his temples. "Yeah, but my damn gloves didn't." He held up the charred remains of what used to be premium goalkeeper gloves. "These were expensive, you know."
Satoru smirked. "I'll buy you a new pair. With my infinite wealth."
...Gloating much.
Keitaro rolled his eyes, grabbing his coat. "Whatever. I'm heading home. Try not to vaporize any more goalposts while I'm gone."
Satoru gave him a lazy salute. "No promises."
That meant he will.
Keitaro walked through the door of his apartment, sighing as he kicked off his shoes. It had been a long-ass day. Between creating a nationwide curse detection system and dodging a Hollow Purple-infused soccer ball, he was ready to collapse onto his couch and maybe—just maybe—sleep for once.
But then he noticed something.
Shoko was sitting on the couch, staring at something in her hands. Something small. Something plastic.
Keitaro blinked. Wait. That looked like...
Shoko looked up at him, expression unreadable. Then, she held it up.
A pregnancy test.
Keitaro's brain stalled. Like, full-on blue screen of death.
Shoko took a breath, then exhaled. "I'm pregnant."
For a moment, there was silence.
Then, warmth bloomed in Keitaro's chest, spreading like wildfire through his entire body. His lips parted slightly, and—
"Wait, really?" His voice came out almost breathless.
Shoko nodded, a small, hesitant smile on her lips.
And that's when Keitaro realized something.
He was happy. Like, stupidly, overwhelmingly happy.
A giddy laugh bubbled up before he could stop it, and suddenly, he was grinning like an idiot. "Holy shit. I'm gonna be a dad."
Somehow, he looked even happier than Shoko, which was saying something, because she was the one actually having the kid.
Shoko raised an eyebrow at his enthusiasm. "You're taking this well."
Keitaro scoffed. "Well? I'm thriving right now." He ran a hand through his hair, still grinning. "I mean—come on, I just built the most advanced barrier system in history, played possibly the most violent soccer match ever with Satoru, and now I find out I'm gonna be a dad? Today's a damn good day."
Shoko chuckled, leaning back against the couch. "Glad one of us is handling this like a normal person."
Keitaro plopped down next to her, still buzzing with excitement. "You do realize this means we actually have to act like a couple now, right?"
Shoko smirked. "You mean we weren't already?"
Keitaro paused. "...Good point."
"Though I prefer the way you treat me now," she would say in a soft voice.
"Duly noted."
Shoko tilted her head, watching him curiously. "You really like this, huh?"
Keitaro nodded without hesitation. "Hell yeah. I like this. A lot."
This was nice. He liked this.
They sat there for a moment, Keitaro still grinning like an idiot while Shoko just shook her head, amused at his enthusiasm.
Yeah.
This was really nice.
Meanwhile, somewhere in an abandoned house or something, Geto could be seen doing his experiment. The man stood in the center of a room, surrounded by floating orbs of condensed curses—small, writhing black spheres that pulsed with malice and spiritual toxicity.
They hovered like poisonous fruit. They were his test dummies for this. If they survived, yippee. If they didn't, then it is what it is—there was nothing he could have done about it.
"Alright," Geto muttered, cracking his knuckles. "Time to try something new."
His Cursed Spirit Manipulation had always allowed him to absorb and control curses, but today's plan? This was deeper. Riskier. Far less elegant.
This was fusion.
He had been theorizing this for weeks—mostly looking through Keitaro's notes, though. This would give him the ability to fuse minor curses into stronger ones by consuming them in rapid succession, binding them together through sheer will and cursed technique precision.
But more importantly, he was adding something extra: a binding vow based on taste.
Yes, taste.
"The nastier it is, the higher the chance of trait inheritance," he muttered, looking at the roiling black orb in his hand. "So basically... torture myself for power."
Which wasn't something he would have come up with, but after some reading on Keitaro's book on binding vows, you could make a binding vow about practically everything.
To increase his chances, he followed a trick from Keitaro's old research journals—ones Geto had conveniently "borrowed" months ago.
Cursed Sensory Reversal, a technique where one temporarily shuts off their taste by amplifying it so much that the brain just taps out. Sensory overload, but in reverse.
Geto focused, cursed energy flowing to his tongue and taste receptors. In seconds, it felt like his mouth was full of static. Taste? Gone. His brain had essentially said, "Nope, I'm out."
He popped the first orb into his mouth. Nothing. No flavor. No bitterness. No putrid rot. Just silence.
Perfect.
The orb dissolved instantly, sliding down his throat like warm sludge. Geto felt the cursed energy pulse in his stomach, binding itself to his core.
Then, he became the throat goat he was always meant to be.
Taking balls after balls.
Then the next.
Then another.
Then five.
Then ten.
By the time he reached fifty, he was sitting cross-legged, surrounded by the shattered remains of curse containers, his cursed energy fluctuating wildly with each fusion attempt.
Seventy-five.
Eighty-nine.
Ninety-nine.
One hundred.
He swallowed the last orb and waited. His fingers trembled slightly from the raw accumulation of spiritual power. Then—
A shift.
One curse inside him... began to evolve.
He clenched his fist, and with a thought, summoned the spirit. It appeared before him like a twisted shadow, long arms dragging across the floor, mouth stitched shut with threads of black energy.
It opened its palm. Geto could feel something was happening.
Then Geto watched as the ground beneath the summoned curse began to wither—tiny cracks forming in the concrete as its cursed aura drained the lifeforce from the environment with every step it took.
He raised an eyebrow. "...Lifesteal."
A smile crept onto his lips.
Not just brute strength.
Sustainability.
Longevity.
Efficiency.
Every strike from this curse would drain energy, restoring itself while killing its opponent. This... this could be very useful. Especially in longer fights.
He exhaled, letting the curse vanish into his core once more. His hands still trembled faintly. Even with Keitaro's technique, consuming that many curses took a toll.
He stood slowly, walking over to a nearby workbench covered in notes, diagrams, and half-finished blueprints. At the center sat a thick binder labeled in Keitaro's handwriting:
"Unorthodox Cursed Techniques: Experimental Theories and Busted Logic."
Geto picked it up and flipped through a few pages, eyes scanning over formulas, annotations, and sarcastic footnotes like, "Don't try this unless you wanna barf up your lungs, idiot."
Oh... so he knew of the side effects...
Good to know.
A/N I didnt forget about this story