Chapter Text
When did they say goodbye? They never said the word. Since his release from the prison realm, every dialogue and action just veered towards that one possibility—that this could be the end, and their days together were numbered.
As Utahime stared at the colorless sky and let her gaze drift down to the unmoving sea, she was consumed by the urge to remember their last moment together. But when was it? Did witnessing him descend into the chaos of Shinjuku to fight Sukuna count? Or was it their final seconds of privacy before they headed to the battlefield, when he joked about needing a bath and a feast afterwards, and she promised to include as many Kikufuku as he wanted?
Could she erase those and go back to something less fraught with fear and anxiety? Something with more color, more joy, more of who they were before they realized their time was up?
When was it?
As a gentle breeze swept past her numbing body, she shut her eyes to summon images of him. His beautiful, determined face. The changing shades of blue in his eyes and her reflection in them. His tousled hair in bed, his strong hands on her waist as he suggested a change of posture in her dance to mirror his movements. The hours of training and synchronizing their bodies, the intimacy of reshaping her technique to optimize his and make the strongest even stronger.
She had given her all. A total undoing of herself as a sorcerer so he could mold her to be exactly who he needed in the most significant battle of his life.
While she danced and chanted for him, she thought to herself that this was the fulfilment of her binding vow. Everything, from her reprimand to him under the torii when they were younger to the time she uttered the words of her vow, had been laced with prophecy. The years they spent falling in love and protecting that love simply clarified the details.
It was like a photograph waiting to be developed, and no sooner had she seen that it was him in the picture with her that it was ripped away.
When did they say goodbye?
How?
Was it when she caught him penning those letters to his students? Was it the night she pretended to be asleep so she could listen to him whisper to Ichiro on the phone about the changes to his will?
Or was it that quiet afternoon in Jujutsu High, after everybody had left and he thought he was alone, that she caught him staring in mid-air in quiet horror? She knew he had realized it then that he might die at twenty-nine, with dreams unfulfilled and fears likely to materialize, and yet that was all he did. He processed the facts alone, and once the sun set and the darkness crept in, he texted her to ask what they might order for dinner.
Being in denial herself, Utahime couldn’t do anything but let it pass. To acknowledge it was to cut her own heart, and she couldn’t go to the battlefield with him as a dead woman.
As the full force of the winter chill descended over the country, Gojo decided it was time to set his clan in order. They entrusted the campus to Kusakabe, Shoko, and their new allies, and he set off with Utahime to Uji to make arrangements.
Utahime, dressed in red and adorned with the traditional gold ornaments of her clan’s head priestess, presented herself to the Gojo clan as a sorcerer. Not his wife, or else she would be clad in blue, but a sorcerer—a power to be used at his disposal.
His trump card.
His queen , as he put it bluntly to his clan while making a chess analogy.
She remembered kneeling on a cushion a little way behind him, to his right, and wondering what he was up to. Everybody in his clan already saw her as his wife, but he had made it clear to her before the meeting that she needed to present herself as a power separate from him.
“But wear your ring,” he told her as he slipped on his. “Just trust me on this, okay?”
She did, but that did not make the number of eyes boring on her wedding ring any less daunting. Rows and rows of men bearing the Gojo clan insignia, stealing glances at her finger and exchanging discreet looks with their peers, gave her a taste of what she married into.
The ego and politics in the Iori clan did not come close to what the Gojos exhibited, even in these dire times. Compared to Utahime, Lady Sayuri and Ichiro, who were seated on a higher dais behind them, appeared unmoved by the growing tension in the room.
It took being born into this world to survive it ,and, slowly, Utahime realized why Gojo insisted that she come as an Iori.
Their prior acceptance of her was easy because they were not facing imminent death upon Gojo’s defeat, but now? Everybody knew he might die in his battle with Sukuna, and she had come with him to their estate childless. They had no reason to care for her unless she was of some benefit to their cause, and right now, she was an asset only as a sorcerer.
“Moreover,” Gojo had droned on flatly, “Priestess Utahime has one of Sukuna’s fingers. If all else fails, this gives us one last chance to attack, provided that all the pawns are in place at the right time.”
The men and women in the crowd stirred, but no exclamations were made. Their postures straightened, and their eyes sparked with hope. Suddenly, Utahime was a beacon. Her wedding ring a symbol of devotion. The Kamo was in shambles, and the Zenin gone. It mattered more to them that the entire clan would have the upper hand in battle than if Gojo had a wife and possible heir.
The Six Eyes would return eventually. It did not have to be through Utahime.
“Only she knows where it is, and on the day of the battle, every able sorcerer in the clan must create six points of separation between her and any claimant to the finger. Six tiers, regrouping endlessly until none of you are left. If Utahime goes, the rest of you have no chance. Do you understand?” he said.
With a smirk and a shrug, Gojo reiterated that this entire battle was a game of chess, and he entrusted his clan to keep the queen safe, even after the king had fallen.
“That’s not how you play chess,” she told him afterwards as rebuke. The gold intricacies of her headdress tinkered and chimed as she walked, and try as she might, she just couldn’t keep up with his pace in her kimono.
At the end of the winding corridor with the ancient murals depicting the rise of the Six Eyes, Gojo stopped and held his hand out to her. “That’s because people think the king is always the one wearing the crown.”
“You don’t sound dark and mysterious, Satoru,” she hissed, clasping hands with him and letting herself be guided down the rest of the corridor. “You only sound like a jerk.”
“Aw, I thought you like intellectual men?”
“Only when I’m in something I can breathe in.” She tugged at her obi and exhaled loudly for emphasis. The sound bounced off the walls and made her seem like a bull preparing to charge. “I don’t even like chess. Make a baseball analogy, and I won’t be nagging you for an explanation.”
Gojo chuckled, genuinely amused. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Even his interaction with Lady Sayuri was odd, as though she was the only one who truly understood the metaphor. From time to time, as they shared this meal that none of them wanted to eat but had to for the sake of normalcy, Lady Sayuri gave Utahime knowing looks, and she would be even more dumbfounded.
Utahime would’ve openly expressed her agitation had it not been apparent that Lady Sayuri anticipated this to be her last meal with her son. She had cooked everything herself and packed some for their travel back to Tokyo too.
Gojo ate with gusto, slurping and complimenting each bite while exchanging ideas for contingency plans with her. At Lady Sayuri offering to send the elders to Shibuya in adult diapers to distract Sukuna, Utahime and Gojo simultaneously choked on their food. Ichiro came in to slap their backs until their laughter came through, albeit in-between abrasive coughing.
How Lady Sayuri could joke about Sukuna like he was a minor inconvenience amazed Utahime and cheered Gojo up to no end. He grinned at his mother and held her hand the entire time he ate, and it was this one action, so simple and silent, that reminded Utahime how much he hated seeing Lady Sayuri cry.
Before she and Gojo left, he walked along the lake with Lady Sayuri. Utahime could not hear them, but she could make out their expressions from a distance, and like co-conspirators, mother-and-son shared a devious smile. They were laced with tension and sadness, but they were smiles nonetheless, and Utahime was certain that they were up to something.
Except when Gojo turned to leave, Lady Sayuri’s face fell. The strength and cunning of her infamous façade cracked, and her real emotions spilled. They all flashed on her face too quickly—anger, confusion, sadness—before settling on firm denial.
Against the backdrop of cloudy skies, barren trees, and dead grass, she was the most beautiful picture of grief waiting to happen.
Utahime took a pregnancy test that night. Just in case. Just in case . She had missed her period for two months, and her body was in too much strain to justify pregnancy, but what if?
She tilted the stick towards the fluorescent light to make sure she was reading the result correctly.
Negative .
Just like every other test she had been taking.
Wrapping the stick with tissue paper, she discarded it in one of the trash bins on campus alongside pieces of her battle-worn kosode and hakama, and decided there was no chance.
It was probably for the best, anyway. If she were pregnant, Gojo would never allow her to support him in battle. He required her to deliver her strongest output yet, and while it may not kill Utahime, it could potentially risk any life growing inside of her.
Everything else happened in a blur.
Between burying their dead and listening in on meetings she didn’t want to be a part of, there was little time to be alone with Gojo and discuss what would happen if .
With their relationship out in the open and Gojo making separate but still complementary preparations from the rest of their allies, she was left stuck in the middle, needing to know everything and wanting to partake in nothing.
He stayed up late with her, studying each note and incantation in her song to time it well with his own incantations. With his strong hands ghosting hers, he shadowed her in her dance to acclimate her to the burn of his cursed energy.
Again. Again . They would do it again and again until she was intoxicated with him. Until she was half-drunk from the sudden spike in her power and Gojo had to hold her while her body adapted to the strain and pleasure of the exercise. They never allowed anyone to join them during this part of their training. It was just too intimate, too visceral and elemental that to be seen by others was to be seen with their souls exposed.
Utahime could still recall laying limp in his arms, her body contorted to the left and hanging by her waist, writhing as the burning sensation crawled through her limbs. With his lips pressed to the back of her neck, he whispered assurances. Jokes. Random facts.
And also apologies.
To this second, standing in the beach and staring at the horizon, Utahime could still feel the anger curdling beneath her skin, the heat rising and consuming her despite the cold sea breeze washing over.
There was Yuta, passing her in the corridor, unable to look her in the eye. Yuji standing statue-still in his corner of the training grounds while Gojo lectured him, hoping that she’d pay him no mind. Even Shoko, who agreed so simply to their most desperate resort to defeat Sukuna, spoke to her less and less.
Not that she had the right to blame any of them, but she did.
The one time Kusakabe ran the plan over with her, she almost killed him. He had been loitering in her ritual circle, shifting his weight from leg to leg while smoking a cigarette and detailing the brutality of their countermeasures, and she blacked out.
She dropped his cursed energy so low that Gojo had to shake her from her violent trance so Kusakabe could crawl away. She heard from someone later that Kazuo confronted Kusakabe about the incident.
Of course, Kusakabe was obliged to coordinate with Utahime, but could he be a little less callous? Kazuo had even smacked the back of Kusakabe’s head, and the only reason a fight didn’t break out was because he was right, and Kusakabe knew it.
“Told you that man hates me,” Gojo joked one evening while Shoko was healing him. He had to preserve his energy and brain power for the battle, which meant relying on Shoko for his recovery.
When Utahime didn’t react to that, Gojo nudged her with his elbow, grinning. “What if your brother is secretly in love with me?”
Shoko took her cigarette from between her lips and held it close to his eye. “What if I blind you?”
Utahime wished she had been less grim, less blasé, even for him. She wished she had smiled more and had been more accommodating of the fears he refused to tell her, but even in hindsight, she could not see how that would’ve been possible.
She was glad she did not kill Kusakabe, and they managed to reconcile over beer at the steps of Jujutsu High, but that was done more out of reflexive politeness than anything.
In usual Kusakabe fashion, he droned on and on about how they had to face the facts, and that he did not intend to be heartless towards her. It was that he was picking up the slack for Yaga and the higher-ups—all dead now—and he did not want to be responsible for the lives of so many people. He was doing his best, and he did not want them to lose.
Utahime finishd her beer and clapped him on the back. “You’re doing a good job.”
That was all she could say, because she was not about to apologize for choosing Gojo over everyone else this time. Whereas once, she would’ve commandeered the strategizing alongside Kusakabe and ensured the safety of all of her students, she was now absent.
She devoted all of her waking moments to Gojo, in making sure everybody else’s aggressive devaluing of him into nothing more than their most potent weapon did not degrade his humanity.
“What if I lose my legs?” Gojo thought aloud over dinner in their final week together. While chewing on a piece of fried chicken, he ran his finger across his forehead. “What if it scars permanently?”
Utahime swallowed her food and stared at him, envisioning Shoko’s scalpel slicing his head open and her gloved hand reaching for his brain. Why he was worried about a silly scar baffled her. Wouldn’t he be dead at the end of it?
Gojo, in a burst of enlightenment, seemed to realize his idiocy and laughed. It was a sad laugh, strained in some places, but a laugh all the same. It was strange how a sound could encapsulate who Gojo was as a person. He was a burst of sunlight constantly being constrained by the world’s ugliness, but even in what could be his final days, he persisted in his happiness.
Gojo snapped her out of her stupor by squeezing the tip of her nose with his chopsticks. “Oi, stop ogling. Finish your food before it grows cold. You need to recover your strength.”
Utahime opened her mouth to say something sharp—-to finally let all of her curbed emotions out—when she spotted movement from the corner of her eye. Turning to the slightly open window to their left, she saw a flurry of white cascading down to the small garden behind Gojo’s campus apartment.
“It’s snowing?” She padded to the window and pushed it wider to peer up at the starless sky. Somewhere on campus, the others must’ve noticed, because she could hear voices exclaiming over this unusual turn in the weather.
Gojo squeezed in next to her to peer out. “Oh, good. I really wanted to see the snow.”
“Do you want to go out?” she asked.
Without answering, he lifted her in his arms and slid off the sill. It was a cramped execution, with Gojo needing to fold over her while she was forced into a tight ball so they wouldn’t get stuck. But once they were out, basked in the winter chill with snowflakes swirling around them, all her reprimands fell away.
A sense of awe dawned on her, and she threw her arms up like a child, wanting to catch as many snowflakes as possible. Beyond the scarce canopy looming over the building, she spotted a few stars scattered around the moon.
Utahime let out a big sigh. “What strange weather.” When Gojo didn’t respond, she stretched her hand back to touch him and added: “Don’t you think?”
But Gojo wasn’t looking at the snow. Not at the moon. Not at the stars. His gaze was fixed solely on her, and although his eyes were vacant and his face lax, the tears rolling down his cheeks revealed what he left unshown, unsaid.
That look would haunt her for the rest of her life. It was the look of a man who was seeing for the first time what the cost of his decisions was, and he could no longer pretend he wasn’t hurting.
Utahime sucked in a lungful of air and held it in. She was not going to cry with him.
Gojo sniffed. He wiped his cheeks, startled to find them wet. “I think I’m catching a cold.”
“Do you want to go back in?”
“Let’s stay.” He slipped off his jacket and wrapped it around her. He overlapped the front over her chest. Slowly, his hands descended to her stomach and pressed lightly, keeping the fabrics in place. “You’re the one who can’t afford to get sick.”
Utahime ran her hands up and down his arms to warm him. “Satoru, do you want to have a small wedding in our shrine before the fight?”
He broke into a bashful grin. “Of course, I do, but we’re not sure yet how things are going to turn out. I need to be able to give you options. If I end up waltzing into my father’s arms too soon and my clan fucks up, I don’t want you to go down with them.” A pause, and he shook his head at nothing in particular. “Anyway, if the opposite happens, the papers are ready, and you’ll still be my wife.”
“I’m not after your name or your property.”
“Utahime, don’t do this to me.” Gojo squeezed his eyes shut, wincing as though in pain, and cussed under his breath. “If I meet you at the altar, I’ll become a selfish man, and I’ll hesitate in battle. I can’t win that way.”
She almost said it. The words were on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t verbalize the truth they both knew. He made preparations for his death because the possibility hovered over them like a nightmare, and deep in her heart, she knew it to be a certainty.
Utahime may not have the foresight of her ancestors, no vivid premonitions or startling visions, but she felt it in her blood all the same.
She punched him. She punched his chest, his shoulder, his arm. With her breath frosting in front of her, she paused and buried her face in her hand to suppress her screams. She turned on her heels to go, but she had only taken three steps away when her body turned again on its own.
Utahime flung her arms around his neck, dragging him down to her height. She held him without concern for his comfort, because she knew he could take it.
“Cry, you idiot,” she hissed. “You don’t have to be strong for me anymore.”
Utahime would never forget how his body seemed to deflate in her arms. How this solid, sturdy man unraveled, an act which everybody retelling his historic fight would reject, a vulnerability that he would be denied simply for being the strongest.
As Utahime struggled to support his weight, as she listened to him hyperventilate with an aching heart, she realized this would be a memory no one else would get to have, all because no one wanted a hero who was afraid to die.
But it wasn’t death he feared, was it?
It was the moments he would miss, the people he would never get to protect again, the future he looked forward to shaping and would no longer be a part of.
Utahime buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed.
Twenty-nine was too young.
Twenty-nine was too soon.
The heightened emotions leading up to his battle with Sukuna was so overwhelming, she neglected how it all felt amiss, somehow. Utahime knew why she was certain of his death, but why was he sure of his own demise?
The answer wouldn’t dawn on her until after they had relocated Sukuna’s final finger to Tokyo. Gojo had denied Yuji’s request to let Rika consume it, leaving the kid with no choice but to let Rika eat one of his fingers instead. It was a desperate measure Gojo had to permit for reasons that unraveled for her only upon Sukuna’s defeat.
The transit from the Iori’s Seika shrine was made safe by the Fugen, with the procession to Tokyo’s Shiromaru Tyouseiti Dam led by Akira Gojo and her father.
Kazuo met them at the entrance, and as they ascended the staircase to prepare the finger, the Fugen surrounded the dam, reinforcing the barriers set in place by the Iori’s priests and shrine maidens.
Gojo had ordered six points of separation at all cost, at all times, even if battle ensued.
Nobu guarded the entrance, while Akira positioned himself halfway up the winding staircase to bolster the infrastructure in case of an attack.
All of it transpired in a haze of adrenaline, but her main fule was the fear of letting Gojo down. He had orchestrated everything so that Utahime couldn’t witness his battle in real time. She received bits and pieces of news on their way to the dam, quick text messages and calls to coordinate with Shoko.
She was holding Sukuna’s finger on the way to the dam when the news of his defeat reached them, and the Fugen went silent around her. The shift in the air was palpable; an atmosphere of grief quickly eclipsed by a sense of duty, something Utahime registered at first as a collective desire to survive Sukuna.
But as Nobara’s Resonance penetrated Sukuna’s finger and news of Yuji’s victory was relayed to them in the dam, the Fugen still refused to let her go.
It was in the middle of the chaos of the Fugen storming the tower, Nobara instinctively shielding her, and Gakuganji ordering everyone to stand down, that everything made sense to Utahime. It was in that damp place, with the air reeking of Sukuna’s fading cursed energy and her ears buzzing with the sound of rushing water that she felt the first sign of life inside of her.
Gojo was cut in half. Her world shattered to its core. But at the bottom, rinsed with the blood and pain of battle, was a pulse. Not Satoru Gojo’s, but his all the same.
She replayed everything in her mind on her way to the beach.
Satoru Gojo had prepared everything for her with the meticulousness that Satoshi prepared everything for Lady Sayuri and him in case of his death. Utahime should’ve expected nothing less, but somehow, it still caught her off guard.
Refusing to let Rika consume Sukuna’s last finger hid the underlying agenda of protecting her. It gave the Fugen incentive to shield her at all cost when Gojo was no longer around to do it himself. The Fugen had secured her after the battle on Lady Sayuri’s command, and that was another matter that made sense to her only when the chaos died down.
Gojo and Lady Sayuri’s final moment together, the confidential smiles and conniving tones—somehow, they both knew she would be pregnant by the end of all these.
Which meant only one thing.
Standing on the beach with her toes buried in the sand and her numbing fingers clasped tightly around Gojo’s urn, she watched as Lady Sayuri approached. She came in a blue kimono with a haori bearing the Gojo clan’s insignia at the breasts billowing behind her.
Her silver hair flew every which way, and the sleeves of her kimono snapped in the wind. The freezing air turned her nose and cheeks red, and it hurt to look at her.
It hurt to look at the woman who loved and lost everything, but was somehow still fighting. Somehow, she was still able to smile at Utahime, even though there was nothing but sadness in it.
Lady Sayuri unfurled the coat in her arms and helped Utahime into it. “I know you’re upset with me,” she said. “But you’ve been forewarned. As I’ve told my son a while ago, a force as strong as the Six Eyes cannot emerge without making itself known. It will always be preceded by a premonition, a dream, a sign.” Turning Utahime to her, she continued: “And always, always, by death.”
“I didn’t ask for this,” Utahime whispered, barely able to hide the loathing in her voice.
“Neither did I,” she said. “I wanted to leave the Jujutsu world and be a housewife by day and a detective by night. I wanted Satoru to have a normal life, with normal struggles and normal hopes, but women like us are born cursed. That said, a child is anything but.”
Utahime pressed her lips together to suppress the angry words on her tongue. With Gojo’s urn pressed against her chest, she cradled her swollen belly. It wasn’t so obvious yet that she was showing through her hakama, but it was enough that she could feel the shape of new life forming, feel its weight in her palm and notice how her body was changing to accommodate it.
Why now? Why so soon after Gojo’s death? Where was the justice in requiring Gojo’s to die in order for them to have a child? Which did fate decide first? The emergence of the new Six Eyes, or Gojo’s demise?
She would like to believe it was the latter, that Kenjaku had sealed Gojo’s fate, and by the laws that governed sorcery, it decided to let Gojo persist in this way. By a child after his own image, one who possessed his power and would understand the struggles of the father she would never know.
“I’ve dreamt about her,” Utahime muttered.
Lady Sayuri made an affirming noise. “I’m sure. I knew Satoru before he was conceived. Gojo told me you were both decided on a name already.”
“Himiko.” Saying the name aloud alleviated a bit of the grief in her chest. It cleared her mind and sent a fresh surge of strength across her body. “I think the name he had in mind is Himiko.”
“Himiko Gojo,” Lady Sayuri said, testing how the syllables rolled on her tongue. “I like it. A break from tradition. Exactly what the Gojo clan needs.”
“Why a girl?” Utahime asked. “Has the Six Eyes ever been possessed by a girl before?”
She shook her head. “Never, but I believe it’s good. She would be subjected to similar demands made on me, but she wouldn’t be as vulnerable. Also, times are changing, Utahime. Japan knows about curses and sorcerers now. If the Six Eyes intends to introduce itself as a force for good, it’s always better to be in the form of a female. The idea of Satoru Gojo would not survive this new age. He could only have been either god or the devil, but a girl? A girl can be both god and devil in secret. That she will be born to a priestess of your standing already sets her on the right path once the Jujutsu world and the clans are unraveled before the rest of Japan.”
Utahime sobbed. She suppressed the sound in her throat, hoping to silence it, but it only made her spite more obvious. “I was not thinking of Japan when I said I wanted children with Gojo. I was only thinking that he’d like to be a father and he’d be good at it.”
Lady Sayuri pressed her knuckles against her lips, and the anguish she had been holding in for twenty-nine years at the knowledge that she would inevitably lose her son this way came pouring out. Utahime’s own emotions retreated upon seeing this, and she watched the older woman come undone, crying and quivering like a little girl who had just been denied her only happiness.
Utahime understood then why Gojo hated seeing her cry. She was sadness personified, her emotions so raw, it was almost tangible. She had lost her husband, and now her son. Utahime was convinced that if not for Himiko, Lady Sayuri would’ve taken her own life.
Utahime glanced around them. In the distance, men and women of the Fugen surrounded the beach, with Ichiro and Akira lingering the closest to watch over them. The perimeter they formed around her was suffocating; already, she could feel claustrophobia crawling up on her, warning her of the life she was about to lead.
The sudden change in the Fugen’s posture sent a sharp chill down her spine. It was probably the pregnancy triggering her fight or flight reflexes too soon and heightening her senses. Immediately, Utahime was shielding her stomach and looking to Ichiro for instructions. She touched Lady Sayuri’s arm to get her attention, and she quickly dried her eyes to stand alert.
Utahime was preparing herself for trouble when she made out Shoko’s form in the distant road, walking past the Fugen sentries. Spotting Utahime, Shoko cupped her mouth and yelled something behind her.
Megumi was the first to appear behind Shoko, followed by Yuji and Nobara. The rest followed: Noritoshi, Momo, Miwa, Maki, Yuta, Todo, Panda, Toge, and Hana. Hakari, Mei, Ui Ui, Higuruma, and Kusakabe made up the tail end of the group.
Utahime passed Gojo’s urn to Lady Sayuri and manuevered the uneven terrain to meet them halfway.
The students collectively yelled for her to stop, which she did with alarm. It was Nobara, screaming for Yuji and Megumi to hurry up that told her they did not want her navigating the beach alone.
“Gojo-sensei will rise from the dead if something happens to them!” Nobara kicked the air, as though to send Megumi and Yuji scurrying faster towards Utahime.
Really, these kids.
“You shouldn’t be running,” Utahime told Megumi as he approached. He was up and about with no apparent complications, thanks to Shoko, but he had a long way to go in terms of making a full recovery. To Yuji, she said: “Are you sure you’re better now?”
“Sensei!” Yuji scolded as he unwrapped his scarf. “It’s freezing out here!”
Utahime smacked his head. “Who are you to raise your voice at me?”
Megumi raced Yuji in offering his scarf to her. “He’s right, you know? You’re not even wearing shoes.”
Nobara entered their circle and pulled the boys back by their collars. “Hey, in case the two of you are as stupid as I’ve always thought you to be, you better watch your proximity to Utahime-sensei.”
She was right. Utahime had been keeping an eye out as well since they arrived. That the Fugen even let Yuji and Megumi pass was a miracle, considering most members of the Gojo clan blamed both for the demise of the Six Eyes.
“They won’t hurt you,” Utahime reassured them, adding a wan smile for reassurance. “No one dares upset a pregnant woman.”
The three of them fell silent. Utahime nudged the tips of their noses with the crook of her finger the way Gojo used to when she was sulking. “And don’t give me that face. Satoru lived a good life with no regrets, and he’s proud of you. He may not get to raise Himiko, but he got to raise powerful sorcerers who will protect his dream.”
Megumi looked up at her, flushed pink in the cheeks. “Himiko?”
Utahime touched her belly. “I’m pretty sure I’m having a girl.”
“Ohmygod, is that Gojo-sensei’s mother?” Nobara jolted when Lady Sayuri turned to face them, and the three of them bowed at her.
Lady Sayuri nodded at them, but her attention quickly honed in on Megumi. “Lord Zenin. Welcome back.”
Megumi kept his head bowed. Utahime squeezed his hand to comfort him. He had so much ahead of him, and she was glad that Yuji, Nobara, Maki, and the others were there to support him. She didn’t think she’d be able to participate much in the chaos of Jujutsu politics until she gave birth. From what she knew of Gojo’s childhood and Lady Sayuri’s pregnancy, Utahime’s whole life would revolve around her daughter.
Behind them, the rest had kept a respectable distance at Shoko’s prompting. She embraced Utahime loosely as a greeting before taking her hands and rubbing them in hers.
“Senpai, we have to get you to a warmer place soon,” she said.
Utahime let out a slow, measured breath. Above her, the sky remained flat and grey. The temperature was dropping, and the waves were beginning to pick up again.
“Alright.” She nodded at them.
There had been heated arguments about how to handle Gojo’s corpse. Cremation was a non-negotiable after learning that techniques like Kenjaku’s existed. Some demanded to enshrine him in the estate, and the others insisted on holing him in a secure location.
With Lady Sayuri’s support, Utahime had declared before the Gojo elders that they were doing neither. She was spreading his ashes in the sea, or else resist confinement for the duration of her pregnancy. It was her first act as the new lady of the clan, and as she marched out of the clan estate to fetch Gojo’s ashes from Jujutsu High, she knew he would be hollering in the afterlife.
Utahime entered the freezing water one foot at a time. With one arm cradling Gojo’s urn and the other shielding her belly, she persisted. She only stopped once she was thigh-deep, and then she uncovered the urn.
Looking inside at the heaps of fine ashes littered with bones, she thought to herself it was a strange thing. It was the same feeling she had while carrying him down the steps of Jujutsu High. She had no idea, back when he carried her up the same steps in their youth, that she would eventually return the favor.
“Satoru Gojo,” she said as she dipped her hand into the urn and held a handful of his ashes. She lowered it to the sea, her fist hovering just above the water. Slowly, trembling violently, she unfurled her fingers, and the waves lapped at him. “I’m setting you free.”
She grabbed more of his ashes and watched as they dispersed in the water. “I’m sorry, but I’ll have to make you wait again. Himiko needs someone to tell her that you’re the biggest idiot I’ve ever met, but she would’ve absolutely adored her father.”
Wiping the snot pooling on her upper lip, she overturned the urn and let the rest of him disappear into the sea. That was it.
That was him. Her first love, finally free.
Utahime dabbed the sleeve of her kosode over her eyes. She had only turned halfway to the shore when she stopped, too stunned by the sight to move or speak.
Everybody in sight fell to their knees, their hands flat on the ground and their heads bowed.
Making her way back to shore, she descended to her knees as well and bowed to the fading remnants of her husband.
Utahime wished Gojo could see this. She wished he knew how much he was loved, and how much they already missed him.
When did they say goodbye?
As time passed, what was factually their last moments together merged into other memories, and then those merged with the new ones she was making.
In her dreams, she was on the bed with him, laughing about stupid memes and bickering about baseball. She’d wake up with his warmth lingering on her neck, where he supposedly lay his head while he slept. She’d stay still until his presence disappeared, and the only company that remained was her daughter, growing bigger and bigger in her belly each day.
Most mornings were spent walking in the garden of the Iori estate, pressing her phone to her stomach so Himiko could learn her father’s voice. Utahime had made a playlist of all of his voice notes to her throughout the years, and Himiko kicked at the sound of him saying Utahime’s name.
Lady Sayuri kept her company, but was never so suffocating with her presence that Utahime loathed it. In fact, spending time with her was the most soothing part of her pregnancy, as she was regaled with endless stories of Gojo’s childhood and her own experiences as a descendant of the Six Eyes. The knowledge of what Himiko would go through and the lengths Utahime would have to take to shield her eased her growing anxiety. The future was a puzzle waiting to be solved, and her only time to prepare was in the nine months Himiko was in her womb.
Utahime also felt that it was the only time she had to herself to grieve. To ignore the cacophony that was rattling Japan as questions descended upon them from the masses. As Lady Sayuri’s predictions about the reception of the clans and the scrutiny over the Six Eyes loomed over their world.
As everybody moved on while she clung to the past, because that was the only place now where Satoru Gojo existed.
At some point, she stopped asking herself when they said goodbye to one another. Instead, she asked when she might be able to let him go.
The last thing she wanted was to curse him with her longing. As the skies changed colors and the seasons passed, she told herself that she, too, would have to move on. It felt like the worst betrayal of all, so in her mind, she reassured him that it did not mean she’d forget.
The years would pass, her hair would turn white, and her memory would fail her, but her soul would remember.
Utahime reappeared to the public at the beginning of autumn the following year.
So much had changed by then. Satoru Gojo was no longer a name known only within the Jujutsu world. Everybody in Japan knew him, or at least the various versions of him the public painted. Utahime had seen televised broadcasts of protests outside the Gojo clan’s Uji estate. The Fugen kept them far enough that none of their outrage reached the walls of the main house, but their hatred permeated the air all the same.
All around Shibuya, walls were graffitied with infinity symbols in blue and then drawn over with the most hateful words. As soon as one was made, it would be painted over by sorcery enthusiasts—an equally loud mob that defended the Jujutsu world and upheld Satoru Gojo as a savior.
He was the hero that made Sukuna’s defeat possible. He was the devil that enabled Sukuna’s massacre. Attached to him were similar dualities made for Yuji and Megumi. Why was the former allowed to live, and the latter reigning as the inheritor of the Zenin clan’s wealth? They were romanticized and demonized, edified and rejected.
Only Yuta received a fair reward for his heroism. Yes, he was related to Gojo, but he was raised as an outcast. He was one of the masses before he became the ultimate power that brought Sukuna to his feet. The stitches on his forehead symbolized his selflessness, and his sword upheld righteousness.
If not for Yuta, the Jujutsu world would’ve been condemned, and Utahime would not have had a voice.
He took on the mantel as head of the Gojo clan and dedicated nine months of his life to protecting Utahime and Himiko. With Maki’s help and Lady Sayuri’s instruction, he familiarized himself with clan dealings and learned to use his power to dominate without violence.
When they last spoke, Yuta had smiled at her pregnant belly and reassured her that it was a small price to pay, referring to his role in the clan and the complications it posed on his relationship with Maki. “Sensei protected our youth, and now we must grow up. It’s our turn to protect the next generation.”
“They will demand so much more from you once Himiko is born,” Utahime warned. She studied Yuta’s face with concern. Fatigue had aged him. “You know they won’t want you to leave her side.”
Yuta broke into a childish smile. “It’s alright, Utahime-sensei. We’ll figure things out once she’s here.”
Utahime cried the most for Gojo while giving birth to Himiko.
Against the Gojo clan’s wishes, she returned to the Seika Iori shrine and went into labor in the worship hall, exactly where Lady Sayuri had given birth to Gojo. Nobu activated his Reaper Forbidden Zone, and Lady Sayuri delivered Himiko without complications.
Lying there, bleeding and listening to Himiko wail, Utahime thought this was the closest she could be with Gojo. If this shrine could be some sort of passageway in time or a path between life and death, Gojo would surely be on the other side, bawling his eyes out in joy.
With Himiko swaddled and laid on Utahime’s chest, she allowed herself to black out and rest.
After all, this was the only time she’d be at peace with her daughter. Once she woke up, Japan would be abuzz with her name.
Even as layers of the elaborate silk kimono and the gold headdress that once belonged to Lady Sayuri weighed Utahime down, she kept listening to the broadcast on her phone about the initial news of Himiko’s birth.
Speculations about her heritage and power dominated the internet. Utahime’s likeness, reshaped endlessly to fit the tales they had weaved about her lineage and relationship with Gojo, flashed on the screen. She was an angel, a gold digger, a heretic. Men and women wore imitations of her scar as a symbol of support for Himiko’s birth, or else to mock her for loving the man who brought Sukuna back to life.
“That’s enough.” Lady Sayuri plucked her air pods from her ears and tossed them to the vanity desk before her.
The women attending her stepped back and bowed. Ambient noises inside the main house grounded Utahime in the present, where she stood in the middle of Gojo’s room being dolled up for the ceremony.
“There’s no use listening to so many voices.” Lady Sayuri raised Himiko in her arms, presenting Utahime with the life she had just given birth to three days ago. “Hold her, and then we must go. Everybody’s waiting.”
Utahime glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Gone was the red of her identity as Utahime Iori. She was now known to all as Utahime Gojo, and the rest of her life would be clad in blue. All the shades of it that made up the Six Eyes, the very same eyes that had seen and adored her despite her imperfections.
She took Himiko into her arms and paused to savor the feeling. Her weight, her warmth, her softness. Wisps of soft, white hair swayed with the gentle breeze that blew in from the window. Her lids fluttered, and her pupils—the exact cerulean that belonged to her father—focused on Utahime.
Lady Sayuri smoothed down Utahime’s sleeves and cupped her cheek. With a wan smile, she asked, “Are you ready?”
Utahime couldn’t rip her gaze off her daughter, who looked up at her with such innocence that her heart broke. Her motherly instinct conjured images of her taking Himiko away. They could go overseas. Change their identities. Live lives free of sorcery—and then what?
She nuzzled Himiko’s nose, passing onto her the love that Gojo conveyed whenever he did this to her. At the sound of her bright laughter—or at least, her hiccupping attempt at one—Utahime remembered.
When she was twenty, and he was seventeen, Gojo had asked her that question.
Are you ready?
Utahime descended the long staircase of her family’s Kyoto shrine with two large travel bags in her hands, her lips curling into an ugly frown upon seeing the man waiting for her at the bottom.
Boy would be more accurate, since no respectable man would fetch her wearing such a shabby disguise. Even from afar, Utahime could tell that the black hair sleeked back into a bun and styled with bangs at the front was a wig. His baggy pants and sweatshirt looked like it belonged to someone twice his size, and the belt peeking out of his shirt’s hem seemed to be the only thing preventing his indecent exposure.
Gojo, leaning on the hood of the red sports car with a grin she desperately wanted to punch off his face, raised his hand in greeting. “You ready?”
Utahime pitched one of her bags at him. “Are you pretending to be a cheap copy of Getou or something?”
Gojo swung her bag over his shoulder and tipped his sunglasses down a little to wink at her. “Almost fooled ya, didn’t I?”
She was about to clap back at him when his pupils darted to something behind her, and his expression changed. Turning, she saw Haruki climbing down the steps, eyes squinted to see past the low-lying tree branches that hid them from view.
“Utahime?” he called, his voice high-pitched and sweet for his age. “Where are you going?”
She opened her mouth to reassure him that she’d be back for the New Year—it slipped her mind that Haruki wasn’t in the room when she asked permission to go to the beach with Shoko—when Gojo swept her off her feet and forced her into the car through the window.
“Your sister is mine and we’re going to dominate this world!” Gojo yelled, followed by manic laughter as he jogged around the front of the car to get to the driver’s seat.
Utahime screamed for him to shut up and for Haruki to calm down, but the former had already started the engine, and the latter had disappeared up the staircase, screaming for Kazuo.
With her feet over her head, she rolled to her side and clawed at Gojo’s chest to pull herself upright. Gojo swerved the car to the left in an attempt to get her off, and she jolted forward to the door. If Gojo hadn’t grabbed the collar of her dress, she would’ve smashed her face on the window and broken her nose.
“What is wrong with you?” Utahime rearranged herself on her seat and kicked his shoulder, thankful that her knitted dress was long and she was wearing tights.
“What’s wrong with me? ” Gojo flapped his hand in the air to parry her kicks. “You’re the one who was trying to climb on my lap and grope me! You think I won’t tell Shoko?”
“Oh, please! Everybody knows I’d sooner hack your neck than feel you up! I’m not a pedophile!”
Gojo slowed the car near the end of the road, just as they were about to enter the traffic. He turned to her, wide-eyed and pouting. “I’m the head of the strongest sorcery clan. I’m not a kid.”
“Yes, you are.” Utahime snatched his awful wig and chucked it in the backseat. “You don’t even look old enough to drive.”
Gojo hit the brakes. Utahime lurched forward, but he was quick enough to fling his arm sideways to prevent her from hitting the dashboard.
“ You drive,” he said. “You didn’t even bother putting on your seatbelt.”
Utahime rubbed the back of her neck. She would have to ask Shoko to check her for whiplash injuries, if not because of Gojo’s reckless driving, then because she was seriously going to beat the crap out of this jerk. “You crumpled me up and chucked me through the window!”
Gojo peered at her above his sunglasses. “I thought you’d fit just fine, but I see you gained weight.”
“I did not!”
He pinched her cheek until it turned red. “You’re like mochi, I can bite you.”
Blood rushed to her head until she felt feverish with embarrassment. She jerked away from him and rubbed her tender cheek, hoping she didn’t look as flustered as she felt. “Just drive and try not to get us killed, will you?”
He restarted the engine and eased the car into the city traffic. “Are you waiting for me to put on your seatbelt on for you?”
Utahime yanked the seatbelt to show him that she was perfectly capable of doing it herself, but the darned thing resisted. Annoyance flaring, she yanked twice more before remembering that it was built to resist force. With a deep breath, she tugged it gently, and it gave in.
“You see, senpai?” he said. “Not everything can be solved with brute force.”
“That’s rich coming from you.”
“I’m the calmest guy in town.”
“Does that town exist only in your head?”
He stuck his tongue out at her, and she did the same.
Making a left turn, Gojo pointed out the windshield at a fast food chain. “Want a bite to eat? It’s gonna be a long drive.”
Utahime slid down her seat and wrapped her arms over her tummy. “I’m not hungry.”
“Are you sulking?”
“No.”
He turned into the drive thru. “I was kidding about your weight. Anyway, you look better with more meat in you.”
“I’m not a farm animal, thank you very much. Go order for yourself.”
Gojo stopped the car behind an SUV. He poked her shoulder. “You paid last time. It’s my treat.”
“So you can tease me about my weight while I’m enjoying my food?” she snapped.
“Look,” he said, raising his voice. “You can gain a hundred pounds and still be prettier than most of the girls in Japan, okay? And I doubt you can gain that much weight given the toll your technique has on your body, so just tell me what you want and eat in the car with me, will you? We don’t know when we’ll find another drive thru along the way.”
Utahime looked at him from the corner of her eye. “I doubt that’s factual, but sure, I’ll eat.”
Gojo rolled his window down, scoffing. “You just like being called pretty.”
“I am what I am.”
Gojo ordered a feast, clarifying to her before she could complain that half of that was for him. Apparently, Yaga requested that he deal with a special grade outside of Tokyo just hours before he fetched Utahime, and he was more ravenous than he was letting on.
“You should’ve said so,” Utahime scolded when the woman handed them bag after bag of their order. She took charge and placed a cup of ice cream in the center console, knowing he’d likely go for the dessert first.
Gojo circled the restaurant and returned on the road while shoving spoonfuls of ice cream to his mouth. Utahime spread two layers of table napkin on the center console and on his thigh—making it a point not to touch him lest he get any idea—before feeding herself.
She was chewing a mouthful of her burger and savoring the flavors when her phone rang, followed by countless notifications from people in her shrine. She answered the call and pinned her phone between her ear and shoulder. “Hello? No, I wasn’t kidnapped, you idiot! Mother and Father know. It wasn’t Suguru Getou. Gojo was just being a dumbass by cosplaying him. We’re in the car and—of course not! Shoko’s there. I’m not eloping with anyone! Oh, for crying out loud. As if! Tell Haruki to calm down. I’ll bring souvenirs from Kanagawa. Fine! You don’t get any. Just shut up and let me enjoy my vacation.”
Gojo stole a piece from her pack of cheese-covered fries. “Your brother?”
“Kazuo’s a dictator. The day he replaces father is the day I either retire and become a hermit or start a family. Those are the only ways I can get away from his reign.”
“Why the hell are you thinking about starting a family at your age?”
“Not now, of course, but sometime in the future.”
Gojo was quiet for a while. “You mean there are guys with vision and judgement so bad, they’re actually courting you?”
Utahime waved her burger in the air, the buns, patty, and other fillings flapping against one another with her rage. “For your information, I have lots of suitors!”
“Yeah? And are you interested in any of them?”
“Maybe,” she said thoughtfully. “I’m not really sure.”
“Don’t be in a rush. There are lots of sorcerers who might take advantage of you and your influence. Shoko will nag if anything happens to you.”
Utahime sneered at him. “Who are you to be giving love advice? I don’t see you dating anyone.”
Gojo held his cheese-covered finger up. “First of all, she’s dense. I’ve gone out of my way to spend time with her and she still doesn’t get it.”
She gasped. “Is this an arranged marriage thing? I heard the Big Three are still into that. I wouldn’t be surprised if they did that to you.”
“Mom won’t do that to me. She knows I’ve liked the same girl for a while now.”
“No kidding?” Utahime leaned over the center console to study his face. “Is it Shoko? Does she want me there because we’re settling a love triangle and you need a mediator?”
Gojo stage-gagged. “If Shoko and I were the last humans on earth, we’d probably figure out a way to destroy whatever remains while eating expired popcorn and wearing 3D sunglasses.”
Utahime giggled. “Sounds just like Shoko.” Her face fell as something dawned on her, and she yanked at his earlobe “It’s not Mei Mei, is it?”
“Ow, ow! No, stop that!”
She tugged harder, pinching the soft skin between her fingernails for full impact. “Has she seduced you? Did you give in because she has big boobs?”
“Why are you making up stories?” He cautiously pulled his earlobe from her grip. Once free, he shuddered and rubbed his ear. “I’m never hooking up with Mei Mei. Besides, if she’s ever flirted with anyone, it’s Suguru.”
Utahime thought so. She just had to make sure, because Gojo came off as an impressionable young man, and it wouldn’t sit right with Utahime to let something like that pass unnoticed.
“I like Mei Mei, but she’s the type to target younger men,” she said. “Just don’t fall for her tactics, okay? If she wears anything low-cut, run in the other direction.”
“Utahime, why do you think I’ll fall for her just because she has big boobs?”
She shrugged. “You’re a guy.”
“You really think I’m that shallow?”
“Okay, then tell me what you like about your girl,” she said, drawing out the last syllable to relay her scepticism. “I bet she’s stunning and rich and dressed head-to-toe in designer goods.”
“She cares about me.”
Utahime stared at him with her mouth slightly open, a piece of French fry still dangling from her fingers.
Gojo cleared his throat. “Yeah, I guess she’s stunning and rich like you said, but I like her because she cares about me. Whenever I’m with her, I feel like I’m….ordinary. Like I’m no different from other men my age who has a crush on a girl so dense, she doesn’t realize how much I miss her when we’re not together, and when we are, I get so worked up that I feel like an idiot. I don’t think she cares that I’m hot or that I’m the strongest. It hasn’t even occurred to her that I can heal myself. She’s just that good of a person.”
“Huh.” Utahime grinned and clapped him on the back. “Satoru Gojo, you are officially in love. Good for you!”
Gojo gave her a sidelong glance, his face burning a bright pink. “Gee, thanks.”
“I know I scold you a lot, but as your senpai, I’m cheering you on! Tone down the clownery and the narcissism, and I can confidently say she’s lucky to have you on her side.”
“You’re messing with me.”
“No, I’m serious. You could’ve turned out like Naoya Zenin, but you didn’t.”
“That’s a pretty low bar, don’t you think?”
Utahime looked out the window. “There aren’t a lot of good men in our world. If you change only for the better, marry this girl, and start a family of your own, you’ll be giving a lot of people hope.”
He elbowed her. “Why so serious all of a sudden? Utahime-Senpai, are you jealous? Do you secretly have a crush on me?”
“This is why I rarely compliment you. You’re so delusional.”
“Alright, it’s your turn. What kind of man do you think will whisk you away from your brother’s tyrannical reign?”
Utahime pondered it for a moment. “I’m sharing this only because you opened up to me, okay?”
Gojo crossed his heart.
“He has to like sports as much as I do, because I want one of my children to be a professional athlete. He has to be a sorcerer because it’ll be too complicated if he isn’t, but he doesn’t have to be super strong. I just want him to be a good man. He has to respect me and be patient with me. I’m self-aware and I know I have a temper, but in case I blow up, he needs to be able to live with it.”
Gojo whistled. “So he can be ugly?”
“Definitely not. I want pretty children.”
He laughed. “We’ll have no problem in that department.”
“What did you say?”
“You’re going to have pretty children,” he yelled at her. “There, was that clear enough?”
Utahime ripped his glasses off his face. “Satoru Gojo, when was the last time you slept? Have you seen yourself?”
He snatched his glasses back. “I told you, I just came back from a mission.”
“You should’ve rested first. They’re not expecting us until the afternoon. We could’ve gone tomorrow instead!”
“If you’re so worried about me, then why don’t you drive?”
“Fine!”
Gojo blinked at her, startled. “Fine?”
“Let’s switch. I’ll drive.”
They parked at a rest stop and switched places. Utahime adjusted the driver’s seat, put on her seatbelt, and gripped the steering wheel hard. She hadn’t driven in a long time, and all attempts to teach her before had resulted in near-death experiences and one serious crash. She should be smart and admit to her poor driving skills, but she was too prideful. Besides, she might’ve improved over time regardless of her lack of practice. She was older and calmer now, and she could do this.
Gojo assessed her. “You’re gonna kill me, aren’t you?”
“Shut up, Gojo.”
She turned on the engine and pressed the gas. The car jolted forward. Gojo grabbed the steering wheel, his hand landing right on top of hers.
There was a moment of silence, and then Utahime ripped her hands off the steering wheel. “I can’t do this.”
“What?”
“I get it; you have Infinity, but what if you don’t activate it on time?” Utahime unclipped her seatbelt. “What if I hit someone? Maybe it’s better if I try this where there are fewer cars and—”
“Utahime.” Gojo took her hands and put them back on the steering wheel. “I’m here. I’ll teach you. You’ll be fine.”
Utahime stared into his eyes. Beneath the startling blue of his pupils and the fatigue that dimmed their usual brightness, she saw no teasing. His hand on hers warmed her skin, and she felt grounded. Her anxieties ebbed little by little, replaced by the realization that her heart was pounding against her ribs for no valid reason.
To remove her hand from under his would be to confirm that he made her feel funny things, and so she didn’t.
Revving up the engine, Utahime tried again. Gojo scooted closer and leaned over the center console so he could maneuver the steering wheel with her.
After a few jumpy starts, they managed to leave the parking lot and enter the freeway.
Utahime had a distinct memory of Gojo’s voice in her ears, of his calm instruction and encouragement. Before she knew it, his hand had slipped off hers, and he had resumed his seat.
“No, don’t let go.” She reached for his hand, hating how needy and nervous she sounded, but she could not let her ego run rampant when it was their lives on the line.
Gojo, lethargic and already reclined on the passenger’s seat, caught her hand and gave it a tight squeeze. “Utahime, I’m exhausted.”
She glanced at him, her lips pursed in frustration.
“Don’t take your eyes off the road. I’ll be asleep, but I’ll still be watching over you.”
“How does that work, mister?”
“Just trust me. You’re ready.”
Utahime glanced at him for the final time. Gojo lay on his side facing her, sleeping soundly. Her nerves sang with adrenaline, but she resisted the urge to wake him. She had never seen him this tired before; fatigue cloaked his every feature, robbing him of the vibrance that normally emanated from him like sun rays. That he would curl up and allow himself to be vulnerable with her like that strengthened her resolve to do this task right.
Utahime took a deep breath and fixed her gaze on the road ahead.
Gojo deserved to rest, and she would let him.
FIN