Chapter Text
The first indicator for Gojo Satoru that something was different was that Ijichi Kiyotaka wasn't working weekends anymore.
"You're stalking him, Satoru. He didn't sign up for that!" Shoko argued when Satoru casually brought up the observation. He almost regretted telling her. How could she be like this when she knew he couldn’t help it?
"I know you’re always watching me. Nanami-kun refuses to acknowledge it for sanity’s sake, and your students are so traumatized they probably think this is technically normal. But Ijichi-kun didn’t sign up for this."
Satoru slumped back in his chair, pouting. "Yes, he did! He’s one of my kōhais, isn’t he?"
Shoko rolled her eyes, sighing. "Pretty sure when he signed up for Tokyo Tech, there wasn’t fine print that said, ‘You agree to be subject to stalking by Gojo Satoru whenever he deems fit.’"
Satoru’s eyes widened, twinkling with mischief. Even though Shoko couldn’t see them, she sensed trouble brewing.
"Satoru, no."
"Satoru, yes!" He bounced up from his chair, already making his escape. "Always a pleasure, Shoko-chan! Let’s do this again soon!" he yelled, dashing out.
Ijichi Kiyotaka had a secret. A beautiful, wonderful, exciting secret that he wished he could share but couldn’t. He—boring, dull, powerless Ijichi—had acquired a cursed technique.
It had started innocently enough. There was some scrap paper on his desk with notes he didn’t need anymore. For some reason, an urge to make a paper family had overtaken him. So there he was, a grown man of 24, cutting out paper dolls, when he accidentally nicked himself with the scissors.
Frustrated, Ijichi was about to toss the project when a drop of blood landed on the paper. To his astonishment, the dolls began to glow. He dropped them, startled, and watched as they floated in the air. The cut-out shapes connected to form a complete circle, the glow fading to reveal the sound of children's laughter.
The paper family circled his hand, whispering:
"You're hurt!"
"Oh no, he's hurt!"
"Does it hurt?"
"We should heal him!"
"Let’s heal him!"
"This will only take a second," said the last doll.
"Wait, what?" Ijichi stammered, utterly confused.
The dolls glowed again, and to his amazement, the paper cut vanished. It felt as though tiny arms were wrapped around him, like a warm hug. He closed his eyes, unable to remember the last time anyone had hugged him—much less touched him. When the embrace ended, he felt an unexpected sadness.
"There was more hurt than we thought," one voice murmured.
"What... what are you?" Ijichi asked, awestruck.
"We are yours, and you are ours," one voice replied.
"Make us out of better materials. Spend more time crafting us," said another.
"Read our stories. Learn our names," added a third.
"Learn new techniques to make us stronger," chirped the fourth.
"Unleash your imagination," murmured the fifth.
"And know that we are so excited to get to know you!" the sixth voice chimed in. "Whenever you’re lonely, summon us, and we’ll be there!"
"Are... are you leaving?" Ijichi asked, feeling oddly tired.
"Yes," they all answered. "We’ve run out of energy, and we don’t want to take yours since you’re tired."
"Sleep, our summoner. Rest your soul," one whispered softly. "We will return."
Slowly, as though burning away, the paper dolls faded into nothingness.
"What just happened?" Ijichi whispered to the empty room, still bewildered.
In the grand scheme of things, Ijichi taking weekends off shouldn't have mattered. He could always handle paperwork later (still finishing it before the deadline, just not as early as usual), and he wasn’t behind on anything. Plus, Hisoka-san was always eager for more shifts and happy to cover emergencies.
So, on Friday, during his lunch break, Ijichi went to the school’s secret library. Rarely mentioned and seldom occupied, the library had always been Ijichi’s haven. Dust coated the books like a second skin, and the shelves were packed with texts you couldn’t find anywhere else. Mousy, long-limbed, and nearly invisible during his teenage years, Ijichi had felt right at home there, surrounded by the forgotten literature of sorcerers.
The greatest sorcerers, regardless of clan affiliation, had roamed these aisles and left behind their notebooks. Here, Ijichi hoped to find answers to the questions that had been nearly bursting from him since summoning the shikigami.
"Mrow?"
The library had no librarian—something Ijichi always found wasteful. Instead, there was a cat that had lived there for as long as he could remember. Clearly part curse, the cat hadn’t aged a day in all the years he had known her. Her fur was an unusual pattern: pure white on top, burnt orange-red on the bottom, as though she were wearing pants. He had once asked about her, but no one knew of her existence. So, he named her Miko, after the traditional outfit she seemed to be wearing.
"Hello, Miko-hime," Ijichi greeted the cat.
Miko purred in response, settling back on the desk, one intelligent eye open as if to question him.
"I did something amazing yesterday," Ijichi confessed while browsing the shelves. His fingers brushed along the spines, skimming the names of books that required mending.
"I summoned what might be shikigami... from paper... with just a drop of blood." He picked up a book and then set it back down. "Have you ever seen paper glow? Heard voices from... somewhere you couldn’t follow? I didn't even know the first place to look for answers to my questions so I came here. Hopefully, I'll find something in the midst of these books. In the meantime, I'm taking an origami class on Saturday, and a wood carving class on Sunday."
Miko watched him silently, the quiet thump of her paws echoing as she jumped down and wandered between the aisles. After a moment, she stopped in front of a stack of books, giving Ijichi an expectant look.
"Meow." Her tail swished sharply.
Ijichi approached and picked up the top book. It was covered in dust, forcing Ijichi to blow it off. Making sure that he didn't blow in the direction of the still-expecting cat, he took off the dust. The book was handwritten, with sploshes of ink on the front cover.
"‘Walking Towards the Light: The Jujutsu World’s Connection to Religion?’" He read aloud. "The author’s name is missing."
Miko gave him a flat look, then trotted back to her desk.
"You want me to read this?" he asked, bemused. Miko made herself comfortable, closing her eyes as if the matter were settled.
Ijichi bent down to scratch behind her ears. "You’re far smarter than the average cat. Maybe even smarter than the average human. Thank you, Miko-hime."
As he straightened up to leave, Miko let out a quiet murph, her eyes drifting shut.
"I’ll return this by Friday next week," Ijichi called as he shut the door behind him.